


Demons

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And possibly mentions of food, Can't give out too much on these tags, Chef!Harry, Hate to Love, LIKE ALL THE TIME, M/M, Multi, Narry bromance, or within ocassion, so many feelings, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding out about a rich father can be one thing, but attending a university for the rich and wealthy is another world entirely. To make matters worst, Louis meets Harry Styles, heir to some prestigiously-begotten record company who's somehow bent on trying to ruin Louis' life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not really sure where I'm heading off from here, but the song Demons by Imagine Dragons just reeled in the ideas. I've always wanted to write something that went along this concept, but never actually bothered to start writing it until this song just topped it off, and I just had to write it.
> 
> With that in mind,
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S - More tags will be added later when necessary

•

 

It only took a second for Louis to regret doing this.  
Amongst his endless memoirs of detailed acts of stupidity and imbecilic, irrational decisions--this in fact surpasses all boundaries, crosses all the gates that should've remained locked and guarded, travels prohibited landscapes and dips his feet deep down the murky, untested waters.

 

Really, it wasn't that he was intending to just leave everything behind. All his friends (well only some of them), the midnight laughs, the endless supplies of parties; he had every reason to stay, but he just... doesn't. Amidst all the fun, and all the recklessness that's entitled to his name, highlighted, maybe even bolded in brandished silver, he knew how suffocated he felt.

 

Knew the underlying current that continued to endlessly try to drown him at his wake that came in a plethora of unsurpassed barriers that kept him nailed, plastered from where he stood. Even in his sleep, he felt as if his dreams were too considered, judged in the endless amount of expectations and responsibility that he hadn't initially thought of from the start.

 

So, yeah, technically he's the frivolous type--yes, really, he's very accepting of his own nature--but at least he's got his impeccable sense of humour, and dry wit to keep him entertained (for now at least).

 

Which brought him to where he is right of this moment, barely even midday, sitting in a fucking worn down, albeit quaint park bench, in front of some ancient, yet unnervingly charming library(?) that sat in front of the endless trees whose flickering shadows had latched onto Louis' pleasantly jaded suitcases--he blames his shitty friends for urging him to slide down a main road with only his travelling merchandise, and a small thong to pepper his skin with faded, open wounds and bruises (Fuck, now that he thought about it, they don't only come with the proud label, but he really does have shitty friends).

 

From the start, moving into some foreign land that is said to be prestige and influential was _not_ one of Louis' options of _having fun_.

 

In fact, if it were seen in retrospect, he'd probably take a knack on being a barista at some coffee shop he's never heard of (those teenage heartthrob movies are certainly doing quite a number on him), probably do something about his life long dream to be a world-renowned actor who's dream is to meet his perfect significant other--probably through an accidental bump to the other's shoulder, and possibly find his 'soulmate' (which by the way is utter bullshit if Louis was truly being realistic--no, he's not a pessimist, he's but a humble puppet to society, that and clichés are said to be more long-lasting?). Louis really has no idea, but what else could he do?

 

Apart from a meticulous, over bearing mother who looked more into the ideal job, rather than follow one's own passion, Louis had lived a pretty normal life. He had lots of friends (too much more than he can remember during his many, many countless nights of inebriation), yes, they were all in fun, he's done pretty much the majority of things on his said bucket list, but only a handful were there to actually help him out when the rug's swept up from under him by some homework that threatened to hold him back a year. He never had a father figure to grow by because divorce, and now, (somehow) his father had been informed of his existence (and yeah, why now? Of all times, why choose this moment? why couldn't it have been earlier?), recently taken a liking to Louis, and insisted that he'd study under the same university where his mother and father had met in what felt like centuries rather than decades. He really doesn't get the purpose in that, but if this is his only means of escaping, then what more could he ask for?

 

 _Beggars can't be choosers_ , his brain sneers right by his ears, clear enough so that he could hear the mocking, the scalding iciness of his voice that he could barely recognize, and drench him with a small ounce of guilt that refused to be forgotten.

 

Louis shakes his head away from the thoughts that pushed him towards the edge, and instead focus on the task at hand.

 

So, yeah, (all of those cruel thoughts tossed aside) this isn't one of his ideal situation, but seeing as his residency fee was all good and paid for, prior to his entry, Louis really had nothing to worry about, other than, probably his nutritional needs that came in small, colourful, compressed cups, with little pictures of photoshopped images of what his noodles 'would've' looked like, or as Louis'd like to call it, cupped ramen.

 

It took months for the mail to arrive, seeing as it took a considerable amount of tactical planning for Louis to be entrusted with the mail-pick up key, but it was worth it, worth it to be acknowledged and be accepted to something that wasn't chosen by his mum and instead was chosen by him (well, he did go on his accord, so yeah). Independence shouldn't taste this sweet.

The letter that was filed to him, requested that he is to arrive in that very location, and to expect of someone to bring him to the location of the said campus.

 

_**Promptly 2pm of arrival would be very much appreciated** _

 

He re-reads the letter again to check if he indeed went on the right time, then flicks his gaze towards his watch, stomach doing some elaborate dance moves that he himself wasn't exactly in-control of.

 

_1:48 pm_

 

Louis groans, tapping anxiously at his thighs, not really knowing what to do with his hands at the moment. He knew that he could've done the most sane, most modern thing to do, like let himself be indulged in the said luxuries that were gifted to him during his recent birthday (that included more booze than actual celebrating), could've texted his best mate Stan and notify him how he's doing, but Louis knows, he knows that there's a small chance that his location will be given away, even with that small point of contact.

 

Louis is anxious.

 

Louis is paranoid.

 

And damn, if that bloody escort does not arrive at the this moment, he cannot promise that the emerald glimmers of trees that shined beneath the molten hot glare of the sun will stay as they are, like proper clichéd forests should be. Thick, woods- _y_ , endless and naturally breathtaking with its ethereal cinnamon-coated branches, sap-filled trunks (or at least Louis thinks they do--shut up) and idyllic said clusters of monochromatic green leaves that's plastered at the ends of most branches.

 

Before Louis can even contemplate the very essence of life--and brood some more about this fuckin' idea--and its darling creations, Louis sees a rather posh--probably newly constructed for this day--limo stop by the road where he sat. Specifically, right in front of him.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Louis tries not to fucking leer at whoever drove the limo, and adjust uncomfortably on the park bench that squeaked every moment Louis' either moved an inch, or a terrible itch that threatened to sliver itself down his arm that he just _had_ the urge to scratch like his life depended on it.

 

With that said, Louis once again stares at his watch, and sees that it's 2 o'clock on the dot, and there was nothing but the limo (and that questionable SUV that passed by ages ago with the black tinted windows--no, Louis didn't feel the least bit anxious, not at all) that arrived just a bit earlier.

 

Furrowing his brows with the slight irritation of having to wake up hours prior his arrival, Louis was prepared to call the academy in his speed dial, albeit really crappy flick phone from Samsung that he had to use temporarily just until he gets his new one. But it was at that very moment that a door from the other side of the limo that remained hidden to Louis clicked open, and Louis felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity, as a man in fitted trousers and suit approaches Louis with a vintage letter, along with a silver sword that is ornate and positively gleaming from beneath Louis' vision.

 

Louis debates whether he should do as the man says, and instead, probably ramble on about different questions that came to mind (like, should you know a better parking spot than in the middle of the street? or did you notice that it's really bad manners to _not_ introduce yourself first before giving someone--me a letter?), but seeing as he took the time to approach Louis, Louis'd at least give him the benefit of a doubt, and pardon him from the endless amount of empty chatters.

 

*~*

 _ **Louis Tomlinson,**_ it reads.

 

_**This driver will bring you along the campus, and escort you properly to your room. Please remember to bring all your belongings along with you.** _

_**We're looking forward to seeing you.** _

*~*

 

 

And it was signed off with solidified calligraphy that Louis assumed was the headmaster of the university, and a freshly pressed insignia (this is not the Victorian Era, who presses their insignia anymore, unless they're meeting up with the fucking Queen of England--wait, is he meeting _the_ Queen of England?!) at the bottom right that matched the century old printed symbol on the top left of the letter he received for both his acceptance letter and the paper he held.

 

Louis wordlessly follows in after the proffered door in silence, gaze plastered at his feet, luggage tugged right at hand and the future of what's to come, blanketed in a thick shroud of mist.

 

 

•


	2. I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merghhh!!!!!!! The story should lengthen as the story progresses, still not sure how I feel about this chapter, like it's been re-written over and over till it reached this end product. Please note any possible errors, as I will go and fix it myself to prevent any future inconvenience.
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

• • •

 

It's been days (he thinks).

Louis was told (finally) that they were within distance of the campus grounds, but all he sees was the fast blur of deciduous trees that appeared as endless as the Grand Canyon; its gaping trench only seen through the naked eye, but remain unexplored.

It's like the risk of a recovering alcoholic, wrapping a hand on a bottle for the first time, and debating whether the action was worth doing and weighing out the consequences of each decision as if the outcome could greatly impact their life; to think rationally.

He remembers moments like that, moments when he was but a small boy, from an even smaller town of Doncaster, trotting haphazardly towards life with wobbly knees and nubby legs that's almost the same size as his own two feet. A child who wished to grow older and to be granted the same freedom as adults do and drink a cuppa, maybe avoid school and stay up late in a school night. It's a shame really, that the moment his wish was granted was the same day his dwindling amount of freedom was taken away from him.

Before he could go into a rationale detail (that and he really doesn't want to discuss a negative subject relating his situation), Louis pauses to take in a cloud of eerie, translucent frame of smoke that shrouded over the path way. It shouldn't really be a concern to him, because they were on the road (an isolated one at that--Louis' _not_ on a look out for any types of creatures that may possibly lurk in its deep, dark corners), and the headlights was bright enough to swallow the darkness ahead to chase away the creatures of the night.

Without even intending to, Louis closes his eyes and holds his breath just as the smoke closes in and blankets of thick shrouds smooths right over the black tinted windows. Not a sound was heard, and not a single thought deemed fathomable.

The sensation felt strange to Louis, but the moment the realization of the fleeting need to see something--anything but the eternal night behind his eyelids was the exact moment that he needed to open his eyes to see the blurry details of the spectrum revert back from muddled patches to sharp, defined imagery with a flutter of an eyelash, and let the oxygen flow freely back into his lungs like Adam needed Eve.

Louis didn't know if it was the trick of the light, or probably that he was dehydrated, or that he just needed possibly a snack.

The experience in itself felt a bit off, but then again, it was just nature, and if Louis had learned anything from watching those pointless documentaries (he managed to stumble upon on a drunken night) of wildlife adventures, he knows--he definitely knows that nature is never to be tempered with, so he just rids himself of the thoughts completely.

His stomach chose the right time to howl to the moon (because his body apparently can't connect with his brain), its deafening rumbles enough to wake a millennia of the ancestors that surveyed the civilization below with quiet blinking stars for eyes.

 

Well, there's no real sense into thinking too much about it.

 

Things will pass.

 

Somehow.

 

 

-

 

 

"Wow." Louis breathed, taking in the sight before him and let the scenery flow with overwhelming radiance (wait, so it wasn't night time yet?! Was he in some sleep-induced coma?).

Louis was met with rows on rows of pastel-themed buildings that can be mistaken as another Botticelli painting, reflecting a natural glow within each crevices as if the sunlight reflected in all angles to accommodate the artful scenery before him.

Louis steps out, just as the same man in a suit opens up the door in the side where he sat, the escort's cuffs radiating a bright streak of sunlight that can be compared to golden doubloons. He takes another second to bask on the picturesque site that fills Louis' senses with a warm, serene feeling, before accepting his proffered luggage and heading towards the direction the man in the suit (who Louis' sure he hadn't learned the name of, and probably will not any time soon) had headed.

 

 

 

-

 

 

The protocol was all the same, he heads over to the main office (while probably questioning himself some more as to why his father had dragged him into this type of hedonism lifestyle), he introduces himself, he is given his (laminated with expensive laces and fine calligraphy) schedule, then he was sent off with another escort to his 'rooms', which did not make that much sense to Louis because it should be termed as 'room', but they make it seem like he's some pretentious earl awaiting for a formal escort to lead him back to his castle with pumpkin carriages and stark white, finely bred horses.

Louis didn't have the heart, or the strength (because sitting in a vehicle for God knows how long is essentially--without a doubt another form of torture) to even humor anybody at this point.

 

 

-

 

 

Louis was then driven by a new driver (and fuck, just when he's got the feeling of blood flow circulate itself along both his legs) for another trip around the town, then past a spruce of trees that seemed mildly endless as the span of molten, grainy sand that made up 99.01% of the Sahara desert. Maybe.

Doncaster where? He quietly muses to himself. This might get interesting.

 

 

-

 

 

Okay, he was sure that he'd mention it before, but this is the shittiest, most horrendous plan he's ever had in the 'history' of shittiest plans.

 

First of all, he thought he'd be welcomed with precise, ornate, flower-scented baskets by smile-plastered employees (like, can't they at least understand that travelling is never existent without food?), taking in the (probably gold-soaked) disgustingly posh life, along with diamond-shitting unicorns and never-ending rainbows that spans in Louis' line of vision (okay, he might've over exaggerated that part just a teeny bit).

 

But, what he didn't expect is to be met with the most awful clichés of an elite university (Stan might--will take a crap if he sees this).

Even if Louis had mentally prepared himself for elegantly flowing robes of endless velvet, or something like tacky-coloured sweater vests along with crisp white polo shirts (and probably a bow tie to come along with it), he couldn't have guessed that, that was actually what they had to wear!

 

Sure, a selected few of the crowd adorned some unknown label Louis is mildly aware of, (but never given himself the credit of actually checking, because the price itself might be enough to buy himself a couple of new pairs of Van's that he's had his eyes on a couple of months back) but those individuals only comes to a rarity amongst the clusters of gaggles he _tried_ not to sneer at before he was escorted to the said 'rooms' (Louis would never get tired of getting a crack at that every chance he gets).

 

Louis braced his gut as he sets his eyes in the front gates.

 

The front door in itself was carved with fine mahogany wood, and it was even worst as he stepped foot onto the threshold.

 

Instantly, he was met with a minimal amount of (in other words--two) upside-down, transparent, gold-trimmed bells that hang on the ceiling. To his left was a row of mid-foot (snowman-shaped) grown trees, adorned with expensive plant pots, and to his right was a row of ornate, golden vases with carefully picked flowers that Louis couldn't care about. His reflection could be seen in the fine sheen of the granite floors, but all Louis could do was to angrily huff (because again, he didn't want to be right and find that things were just as pretentious as he'd begrudgingly predicted) as he lugged his luggages to an empty bedroom... That is, if he could find it first.

 

 

-

 

 

Alright. It took around 13 (?) or so tries till Louis was able to find his own bedroom (more like _a_ bedroom), and this time, he didn't even hesitate to just leave his baggage by the door and jump into a queen-sized bed. The bed in itself was a plain and simple white duvet with two big (also very white) pillows (almost the same size as Louis from the torso down to both his feet) and two different ones that were roughly 3/4th of the first ones, stained to a silver, greyish colour.

 

The interior seemed modernized enough, with pale coloured walls to match the bed and pillows and a bookshelf that's plastered to the wall that surrounded the small walk-in closet that bore a few suits and trousers that Louis' not sure whether belonged to him, or his flat mate (if he'd tried them on, nobody needed to find out).

 

Louis isn't really one to read books, but he figures that it was pure coincidence that he brought a bunch of knick knacks and old memorabilia's to probably occupy the empty shelves to at least attempt to 'individualize' his space, before his said roommate shows his face (so that Louis can begin with judging whether it was it to befriend the bloke or not). That is, if he shows his face.

 

According to the person who gave him the key to this place, his roommate had in-fact arrived hours before, and that should be able to meet during his entrance, but Louis' not seen another human being ever since the car ride (he refuses to acknowledge the sneering hyenas that he unintentionally passed by earlier--nope) and he's feeling quite lonely (too much than he's willing to admit to).

 

In fact, he's not even sure if the person that claimed to be his flat mate had even touched a single thing in any of the room, because apart from his bedroom (rooms--apparently)(and other important game rooms that Louis'll probably check out later), there wasn't even a speck of dust or a dirtied sock to indicate another soul to be present (or at least that's what he'd like to think), not even a fucking suitcase at least--nothing.

 

Louis' unsure whether the flat official was messing with him about the arrival of his flatmate, but there's not much he can do for the rest of the day till he manages to unpack his haphazard--probably mangled--shirts and jeans that lay in rolls (because it's the most convenient, most productive way to transport things on the run--Ha!) inside his suitcase, so all he could really do was at least unpack to not appear like a lazy asshole who's incapable of unpacking his own luggages.

He can do this.

 

Probably.

 

 -

 

 

At least around an hour has passed, and Louis' gotta piss. No phone calls to check up on him (not that he expected any--nope), and he's (barely) managed to half-shove, re-fold and organize a few of his casual wear right down to home wear (that consisted mostly the variations of sleeveless band shirts) oh, and did he forget to mention that he's _really_ gotta piss.

He really shouldn't have grabbed the complementary sparkling water on his way up, probably shouldn't have insisted that he'd grab two glasses, apart from the haul-away bags that carried his said luggages.

 

Louis should've just brought his own water.

 

Why did sparkling water even existed?

 

Louis' really got to take a piss.

 

Like.

 

Now.

 

 

-

 

 

 

This time, Louis' didn't even manage to screw up; not once (hallelujah!), and he's bloody proud of himself. He credits his ticking-time bomb of a bladder to assist his lack of coordination skills to act as some sort of bloody compass to this flat (mini-mansion) that he'd begrudgingly--now--referred to as _rooms_. And yeah, he probably needs to have a civil conversation with his father about all the reason why he'd chosen to attend this academy in particular (other than the barf-worthy sap story that Louis' sure he can recite in his sleep) and why not just attend any other university.

 

Now that his bladder is finally back to its minimal size, Louis finally acknowledges his surroundings.

 

There was a fuckin' chandelier (because of-fucking-course) that hang right in the middle, mocking him with its ornate appearance, and how it glimmers under its own light with diamonds peppered on its crevices enough to feed a small town. The whole bathroom was constructed in freshly, cleaned faux-pinewood granite with a total of two sinks, each glittering with silver faucets.

 

There are two floor-length mirrors right behind the door (thank bloody god!), a granite bathtub that shined like freshly polished pearls sat in the middle, and an adjoining room that connects to an isolated walk-in shower, adorned with quality hair products, hand wash, body wash, conditioner, razor, deodorant of some bloody flavour of some type of flower he's never heard of, body mist; every bloody thing that Louis can ever need in a bathroom.

 

Louis must be in heaven, because he's sure that his mum wouldn't even waste that much money on such petty things as hair products, claiming that _'he gets what is given to him'_ , and that _'he should be grateful'_. Always.

 

But..

 

Seeing as this was technically 'part' his flat, and his roommate had not appeared in a mangled white mask, or tattered, black cloak (just yet), Louis take this as an opportunity to re-enact his George of the Jungle audition and throw in a shimmy here, and a wiggle of the hips there, nobody had to know.

 

And if there was possibly a small shadow to fall briefly upon the small streak of light that peaked from the opening beneath the bathroom doors, then like the air, the shadow dissipated into the unseen corners.

 

Well.

 

Looks like Louis isn't as alone as he'd initially thought.

 

 

• • •

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder who could that be?! :OO
> 
> Thank you for reading,
> 
> My Tumblr is - pidgeontoestyles if you have any questions and concerns!
> 
> .x


	3. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis' roommate finally makes a scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I love writing this, like sooo muchhh!!!! :DDD!!

•••

 

"Twenty-five."

 

His hand whips the material towards the wall with casual strength then catching it, just as the ball hurls itself towards his direction.

 

"Twenty-six."

 

He repeats the same action, but then cursing profusely just as the ball had a change of heart and decided that it hated him and aimed for the bloody vase instead, spilling its messy contents onto the beige carpeting.

 

Luckily though, there wasn't much spillage other than some dirt specks by the designated space on the far right corner of the room, where an ebony, elaborately designed table was laid.

 

Frankly, Louis hadn't even noticed the table there till his boredom had gotten the best of him, and he decided--fuck it--playing with a red rubber ball would keep him company or something, in an attempt for some sort of companionship just for the time being, seeing as his flatmate is granted with the inability to be present at all within the vicinity. Now, Louis' left with nothing to do, and a flat that's a couple hundred yards too big just for one person (granted that his flatmate has not arrived yet).

 

Groaning as he stared daggers at the scattered mess as if it was going to burn away like wild fire, Louis contemplates whether he should do the clean up now or later.

 

Hmmm. An interesting question for the ages.

 

He really did try his best to make the practical decision (yeah, because attending this academy was more than enough of a proof to earn him his demerit badge, Yay!), and yeah, if he did decide to carry out the deed, Louis' laziness almost always wins out in spades. He begrudgingly scrutinizes at the haphazard mess from the corner of his eyes, then makes a grab for the ball which was surprisingly just within Louis' range.

 

With a deep sigh, he angles his hand once more, just a few notches to the left, then he throws it with easy precision.

 

What number was he at?

 

"A hundred and two."

 

A snort snaps him out of his reverie, and his eyes immediately flies towards the direction of the noise.

 

"Pretty sure you were up to twenty-seven mate." The stranger states, still hidden from Louis' line of vision.

 

Louis rolls his eyes, huffing as he makes to throw the ball again. "And I'm pretty sure I signed up for some much needed privacy,--" he huffs. He can tell that he wouldn't like this person already. "--not some sort of creepy lecture from a person I've never met, for me to learn maths--something I didn't even think of signing-up for in any shape or form."

 

The figure chuckles as he unravels himself from the corner where Louis couldn't see. He had jet black hair formed in an immaculate quiff that appeared artfully dishelved, his eyes were a clear coat of gold with just a sprinkle of amber to top off the stoic, mysterious look. His skin is a just a light tint of cocoa, and was adorned in fitted black trousers and a custom-fitted black suit with a crisp white polo shirt that had the design of a variety of littering paint splotches.

 

It shouldn't look that good, but Louis finds himself admiring each and every splash with glittering eyes.

 

"Well, fair enough, that." The stranger says, immediately meeting eyes with Louis', his clear gaze slicing the air, and immediately offering a hand out to like a proper gentleman. Did he speak english? Louis was sure it was the language of the gods.

 

"I'm Zayn."

 

Zayn. Even his name sounded godly.

 

Louis swallows down a bunch of sporadic, and untimely quirky questions, before accepting the proffered hand that glinted slightly under the natural light that illuminated from Louis' windows.

 

"Louis." He replies, attempting to trample down the shyness that threatens to crawl out of his throat, as he releases Zayn's hand with a quiet smile. "Tomlinson."

 

Zayn mirrors his expression, not revealing anything away, as he analyzes Louis, almost prompting him to continue on with the conversation, an amused glint sparkling under his lashes.

 

Louis rubs a hand down his neck, unsure of what to say. Should he ask about the weather? Should he ask what courses was the guy attending, what would he rather do than try socializing with Louis, what was his favourite band--

 

"It's Malik." The boy speaks, almost as if he's trying to read what Louis was thinking of, and what..

 

"Pardon?" Louis quirks a brow questioningly, barely even aware that the boy spoke.

 

"Malik." Zayn repeats, smiling smugly like he's discovered the true essence to the meaning of life. "My last name is Malik, just in case you're wondering."

 

Louis quirks a brow, and the trepidness dissipates from that one sentence. The skies are clear, and Louis can finally breathe.

 

"I wasn't," Louis retorts, a smirk painting his lips. "But thank you for telling me."

 

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. "I figured you'd want to know, seeing as you told me yours."

 

Louis shrugs. "Wouldn't find much use for it to be honest." He thinks for a moment, silently hoping that Zayn had not been offended in some sorts with his blabbering mouth that spewed none sense that Louis had so little control over. "other than possibly having to come up with an eloquent, very tear-jerking story of how rock star extraordinaire Zayn Malik suffered through some bodily-induced sickness that threatened to sink his very life with its lethal affects, and how he had a lover who was waiting for him in some faraway land, anxiously awaiting for the day he can hold his dear lover--Zayn's hand once more--"

 

"Wait, wait, wait." Zayn cuts through, shaking his head in amusement. "What are you on about? Are you planning my death already? Even if we met like, less than twenty minutes ago?" He confirms, right after checking his gold-encrusted, unnervingly bedazzled Rolex watch.

 

Louis' hatred for rich people only grows.

 

"Didn't you plan to inconspicuously skip classes?" Louis questions, eyes roaming over Zayn's face to look for his answer. "See, I had the whole tragic hero theme going on--"

 

"Hell no." Zayn shakes his head again, a grin slipping a little looser through his lips. "Why would I need to skip classes? Too much of a bloody effort to wake up in the morning, sure, but I enjoy psychology, so I wouldn't mind wasting my morning for that."

 

"And for the record." He spurs on. "My significant other attends this school too, not in some lonesome island where he hardly is given the time of day to write letters to me. That would be just like, long distance, and I'd prefer it much better if I can hear him talk about his problems and junk in person; face-to-face, not just to read about it in some shitty paper with ink."

 

And the fact that Zayn speaks with such delight in his voice when he spoke of his boyfriend merely softened the blow to Louis' little heart.

 

It wasn't that Louis wanted to date him or anything, but he's the first beautiful boy Louis' seen in this school that he didn't feel an overwhelming sense if repulsion from, and it was kind of.. nice?

 

Maybe he might be worth befriending after all.

 

Probably.

 

-

 

Things should've taken off from there, like literally zoomed pass what Louis would call the 'acquaintanceship phase', that one phase where everything's awkward, the air would feel tense, there is reluctancy and hesitance within each mentioned word; their brains would scramble like scatter-brained menaces to look for yet another subject to talk about, anxious as to how would the other react to a certain phrasing or that if they'd accidentally told too much content.

 

If he was truly being honest with himself, making worthwhile friends aren't really one of Louis' forte, and seeing as he's trying to make anew in this bloody school (if he's lucky), obtaining friends who are not willing to put as much effort as he does in the friendship is not really worth a second of Louis' time.

 

Which brings the topic back to Zayn.

 

Right after their little chat, yeah, they hung around, shared a laugh (well, more like small snorts coming from Zayn and Louis laughing like a bloody peacock), because _'Why does it look like you're about to hump the pool table?' 'It's how I get in the zone, Zayn. Zen! Zen!' 'Right, and I had a pet rock named Jay-R.' 'Well? Do you really?' 'Shut up.'_ And that was like 3 days ago.

 

3.FUCKING.DAYS!!!

 

Louis should've been enjoying his time in complete solitude, should've started posting in his pseudo twitter account (seeing as the phone company had remained true to their word and sent Louis the packing with the phone tightly packed in sealed packaging and bubble wraps--to which he did not touch, not once--no one can prove anything) that only his closest best mates are even aware of.

 

Louis is bored out of his mind, and he still has a bit more of said luggages to unpack.

 

He thinks he might be going insane.

 

Fuck.

 

Where.is.Zayn?!

 

 

-

 

Louis still kept staring at it, stared at it like it was the bane of his existence. Stared at it like the mess is just going to magically clean itself up. Really, it's a surprise to him that it hadn't begun sprouting mushrooms yet.

 

"Begone you!" He curses in what felt like the ninety-ninth time in the past hour, pointing harshly at the pile of dirt with narrowed eyes. He's already finished packing, and his classes won't start for another 2 days, Zayn's still very much missing and--

 

"You still haven't cleaned that mess up yet, mate?" Zayn asks, casually entering his room with a playful smirk and not appearing at all phased that he was gone for days. "I'd have thought that you'd have somebody clean that up or something."

 

Louis glares at the wall. Not at Zayn; he figures that it wouldn't do him much, except to probably earn him another shit-eating smirk he always wore around Louis.

 

He should be angered, should be just close enough from strangling the lad, but he isn't. Things aren't looking good in this whole 'I-shouldn't-be-the-only-one-putting-up-the-effort-to-this-friendship' facade. Louis wants out. "No, and how has my days of serene solitude been? Great, thank you for asking!" He snaps sarcastically, crossing his arms with a silent huff.

 

Zayn rolls his eyes, staring, always staring. "Chill man, it's only been, like what? A day?"

 

"3 days." Louis corrects.

 

"Hmm?"

 

"It's been 3 days."

 

"3 days--a day, s'all the same, yeah?"

 

But Louis shrugs, still a bit pouty. Louis wasn't really too sure about the details in itself, but something about Zayn's company seemed a bit addicting? Like, yeah, he's definitely attractive (like, way beyond that level, but he's not going to say anything--nope), but in some way, Louis felt somewhat attuned with Zayn in ways he's never befriended a person before, and they've known each other for like technically 4 days, and have been in contact with each other in barely 24 hours and Louis felt connected with the lad more than any of his friends back home. Which was, strange; strange but comforting.

 

Louis likes Zayn.

 

"So?" Zayn prompts, raising a brow, awaiting Louis' answer.

 

"So."

 

Zayn groans, rolling his eyes, a silent smirk playing at his lips. "I asked you if you'd like to check out the town, you know? Been cooped up in here pretty long; gotta re-introduce civilization somehow, yeah?"

 

"No." Louis immediately replies, trying to hide the pout in his voice, and moderately stuffed pockets to occupy him. "I have to prepare my things; first day's in two days, you know?"

 

Zayn looks affronted. "Mate, I can literally feel the hermit vibe lingering in the air, you're going to town with me." He checks his watch. "You have an hour."

 

Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Zayn's already heading for his room to probably change to another outfit.

 

There's really not much he can do but stumble over to his said walk-in closet and pray that this day won't treat him too harshly.

 

 

**

 

It turns out that Zayn's not much of a talker.

 

In fact, the moment they entered the little café that Zayn's uncle (supposedly) owned, Louis was lead in a throng of people awaiting in line (which made all of Louis' insides glitter in pride for some weird, sadistic reason) to get to their seat, while Zayn just provides the man at by the door with their names, and entering without even needing to confirm anything.

 

At their arrival, Zayn leads him to a prestigious, private area, where he chooses a table by the windows with a clear view of the sea that's in different shades of teal and light shades of blue. A fragrant scent of lilac and pomegranate filled the air, along with just a spritz of vanilla.

 

Louis has forgotten entirely that they were in fact inside a café and not a restaurant, until a man who looked about his age appeared with a set of bowl-sized cowrie shells with chocolate-oozing soufflés, and a smaller bowl to the side with freshly made caramel.

 

"But we didn't order anything." Louis protests as soon as the waiter was out of sight, shoveling the chocolate concoction into his (slightly watery) mouth without a second thought.

 

Oh well.

 

Zayn shrugs airily, fumbling his pockets for a cigar, and offering one up to Louis, who waved a hand indicating a 'no thank you'.

 

"So I take it you like it then?"

 

Louis moans, in reply. Zayn chuckles as he lights the cigarette, the end of it flickering in a bright orange light, then inhaling the smoke breathily without constriction.

 

Amidst the silent chatters that filled Louis' ears, he notices that Zayn's eyes is on him, almost like he's analyzing him in some way, slicing away at him as if he was some fine specimen. His expression appeared void, and his eyes give nothing away.

 

"So what made you want to attend this university?" Louis finds himself asking (because fuck, he knows the difficulty of his own situation, so hearing Zayn's reasoning might shed him some light?), as a massive white plate; enough to feed at least 4 people was placed in front of them filled with pastel-coloured macarons stacked into a stable pyramid.

 

Zayn blinks out of his daze, and focuses his eyes back to Louis. "I don't think there's much to say about that, to be honest." He shrugs. "I mean," he shrugs again. "I might probably send you off with negative thoughts about me afterwards."

 

Louis stops chewing, tilting his head to the side questioningly. "How so?"

 

Zayn taps at the table absentmindedly. "I don't know," he blows out a puff of smoke, leaning back on his seat. "Would you take something ridiculous, like wanting to smell fresher greens?"

 

The words were spoken, but for some weird reason, Louis can feel the heaviness of those words, can feel the shortness of his breath when he stares at Zayn's calculating eyes, the reflection of the underlying reasoning behind the string of sentences.

 

Louis knows, he knows that he can easily ask what he meant by that, why he thought Louis would think negatively about him, why he felt like there's a lack of words to the obvious truth; when there should be a novel written about it. But Louis understands the feeling, understands as it resonates within him, so he leaves it alone, tucks the information within his hat for safe keeping, and move on.

 

He nods in response though, catching Zayn's eye and feeling the tension in the air dissipate to a softer, more serene atmosphere.

 

"But seriously though!" Louis whines in the highest pitch he is able to conjure up, ignoring the slight flush of embarrassment high in his cheeks. "I didn't even order anything, and all I see all these plates, like did you order them beforehand, or.."

 

Zayn blinks, the quirk of his lips pursed into a thin line, eyeing Louis with a silent 'thank you'. "I didn't; just told them to surprise me, do you have a problem with that, or something? Other than your Kardashian bum gaining a size or two, of course."

 

Never mind, he hates Zayn--he definitely hates Zayn!

 

Louis slams both his hands on the table, rattling the silverware like an earthquake as they collide with the plate. "How.very.dare.you?!" He growls under his breath. "My bum is not a joking matter Malik!"

 

Zayn remained unfazed, in fact, he looked more relax, smirking on one side of his lip as he props his chin onto his knuckle that rested on the table, those golden coins that claimed to be his eyes glowing, mirth evident, even with the faint glimmer of the natural soft glow of the sunlight outside their window.

 

"Oh, I'm sure." He replies cooly. "Your bum is one of the list of things I should deeply prioritize. Heck, I can even get a tattoo of it on my own arse to confirm my dedication." He adds, quirking a challenging brow.

 

Louis rolls his eyes, huffing slightly as he sat down, both palms resting on the table. "I don't know whether I should be flattered or offended by that."

 

"There's really no such thing as a positive or negative comment, mate." Zayn sniffs, separating a macaron in two with a butter knife and leaving the excess cream that's smothered on the knife into a napkin. Picking up one side, Zayn licks away the cream on one side before shoving another onto his mouth. "Just brutal honesty, or flattery."

 

Louis raises a brow. "So? Which one is it?"

 

Zayn hums, separating another macaron as another tray files in, the scent of apples filling Louis' senses with fresh spices, vermouth and newly baked pastry.

 

Louis never gets an answer, but he knows, just knows that, that smirk must've meant something.

 

 

-

 

 

 

The next day, Louis finds himself waking up at half past four in the morning. The sun wasn't even up, and the sky was painted a light hue of lavender.

 

"Fucking shit!"

 

He rubbed away the exhaustion in his eyes to not only hear the incessant clacking, but also hammering to the point where Louis struggles to keep his eyes close (he even finds blinking a difficulty--if that's even possible).

 

Without a second thought, he throws on loosely fitted trousers and a shirt, before stumbling down the massive staircase, only to find a large, massive rock, the size of mount Olympus erected in the dead centre, where both stairs had lead down to.

 

There was decent spacing between the staircase and the foot of the cracked marble, but if Louis naps are ever disturbed--like, EVER! Louis is forced to work on auto-pilot to not only mangle the threat, but also feed its carcass to the wolves.

 

He will do it.

 

Definitely.

 

"Zayn!" He half-shrieks, bearing his claws, just as he sees a familiar quiff, and expensive smoke (yes, he can tell what expensive looks like--don't judge) surrounding the area along with Louis' lungs, and different shapes of rubbles flying out in all directions like the Milky Way.

 

"Zayn!! Stop!" Louis bellows, jogging over carefully towards the haphazard mess he called the lobby, and waving his arms frantically in the air to get Zayn's attention.

 

Unfortunately, all he received was a quiet nod to his direction (if that can be seen as some type of acknowledgement), then the sounds of iron chisels working at the polished stone with determined hammering.

 

Louis widened his eyes, marveling at the sight.

 

Even if barely a chunk of the statue was perpetually carved onto its surface, Louis could clearly see a vivid outline of what the figure would've looked, its deformed fingers clasped onto the ground with pallid, frail fingertips, its muddled wings unravelling from a thin sheathe of blankets, its carefully defined, lithe body swallowed in dark spots that seemed impermanent, but remained tangibly present, and can be seen through the dark shadows that flickered in Louis' line of vision. Its face still remained under a heavy blockage of cement, and body undefined, which left Louis questioning as to which gender was which, and for who this statue was supposed to be.

 

"Oi Louis, mate! Should've told me you were up! Do you want to eat out for breakfast?"

 

So he didn't notice him after all. Ouch. Why did he decide to befriend him again?

 

Louis hadn't even noticed Zayn approach him, till he's met with the ebony glint under Zayn's lashes. He takes one look at the carved stone before heading over to clap Zayn on the back.

 

"I didn't know you sculpt, Malik! Why didn't you tell me?!"

 

Zayn shrugs. "Didn't really think about it, to be honest."

 

Louis frowns at that. Why does he get the feeling that this boy is a perfectionist? "So I'm supposed to guess your talents?! How could you keep this secret from me?!"

 

"Like I said," Zayn shrugs, puckering his lips onto the end of the cigar. "S'not really a big deal." He states. "I only sculpt when I feel like it; I'm more of a sketcher rather than a sculptor."

 

"You're shitting me." Louis dead-pans, wafting the smoke away, his eyes the size of saucers. What he can definitely confirm as of now, is this guy is definitely showing off.

 

Zayn shrugs, slouching slightly as he inserts his free hand into one pocket of his dusty--torn at the kneecaps--jeans. "S'not a big deal. It's just art, Louis."

 

Louis studies Zayn for a second, before punching his arm, to which Zayn winces as he mirrors Louis' actions, mood lifting to a slightly uplifted expression.

 

"But seriously though! If you could do that and paint too, you're like, I donno, who was that ninja turtle again? Leonardo? Donatello? Raphael?"

 

Zayn snorts. "I assume those are all names of the turtles, yes, which one are you referring to exactly?"

 

"The one with the orange mask, the underdog of the group?"

 

Zayn raises a brow. "You mean Michelangelo?"

 

"That's it! Michelangelo! You're the next Michelangelo Zayn!!"

 

"So you're saying I'm a potential ninja turtle then?" He feigns confirmation, matching Louis' gaze with wry humour in corners of his eyes.

 

Louis rolls his eyes for what felt like centuries. "No you fucker, I meant Michelangelo the artist. The 'artist' Zayn, in the Renaissance!"

 

All jokes aside, Zayn smiles a soft smile, looking past Louis as if he was regarding something--or someone behind him, gaze softer than Louis' ever seen it. "That's what Liam always tells me."

 

Louis chuckles. "So, I assume Liam's your significant other, huh?"

 

Zayn hums, almost lovingly.

 

"Yeah."

 

"So when do I get to meet the lad? Or moreover, is he cute? Is he charming? Who tops?" Louis questions, seemingly more interested in the answer for the last question.

 

Zayn rolls his eyes, focusing his gaze back to Louis. "I'm not going to answer the last one, but all I can tell you is he's got the characteristics of a golden retriever and he's got these huge, insanely chocolate brown eyes that you can literally drown over if you stared long enough, and you'll see him around campus, I'm sure."

 

Louis furrows his brow. How the hell was he suppose to visualize anything in his head other than an actual golden retriever?! "You gotta give more details man!" Louis chides. "All I could think of is a golden retriever with chocolate-coin eyes."

 

Zayn smirks. "Sounds about right."

 

And that was the end of that conversation.

 

But because it was Louis, he just had to ask.

 

"So, other than the obvious, who are you sculpting?"

 

"Isn't it a given though?"

 

"Try me." Louis challenges, crossing his arms.

 

"Guess."

 

"Me?"

 

"You?" Then adds in a mocking tone. "Why?"

 

Louis ignores him (probably because it's only 5 am--his wrath tanks have not even fully charged itself yet), continuing on from where he left off.

 

"I donno, because of my fantastic personality? My impeccable sense of humour?"

 

Zayn snorts. "S'not that easy mate, hard to tell your character, seeing as we've known each other for 2? Maybe 3 days?"

 

"What's the required days I have to know you to be forever immortalized in your art, Malik? 5 days."

 

"Sometimes." He shrugs. "Usually, when I've got some kind of good read on you, yeah? Shouldn't take too long now, Tommo!"

 

Louis just rolls his eyes.

 

What's the point in asking anymore questions for the answers he's sure he isn't going to be given.

 

"So then tell me!!" Dear god, he has resorted to whining like a bloody three year-old.

 

"Me." Zayn states bluntly, eyes giving nothing away.

 

"Oh." Louis nods in agreement. "Makes sense."

 

Zayn laughs in fits of laughter, hugging his ribs. Louis thinks he hears the tinkling of wind chimes.

 

"What?"

 

"It's not me, mate! Why would I sculpt a statue of myself?"

 

"Other than the fact that you fit the description of an angel?"

 

"Really?" Zayn snorts. "How so?"

 

Louis groans, thinking carefully of the answer. Aha! "Because you resemble Narcissus."

 

"Why do I get the feeling that you silently hail to my presence?"

 

"Just answer the bloody question!!"

 

"So you do?"

 

Louis considers denying it.

 

"Honestly?"

 

"Honestly."

 

"Well," Louis scratches the back of his neck. "I'd do you."

 

Zayn winks, blowing Louis a kiss before shrugging in the same breath.

 

"So?"

 

Zayn hums, blowing the last of his cigarette, throwing its remnants on a golden bowl that appeared to have materialize out of thin air.

 

"Not really sure if I'm being quite honest."

 

Interesting. "But how can you have an outline already if you don't know who it is?"

 

"It was supposed to be like, I donno, Cupid?"

 

"Cupid? As in Eros, correct? From the Greek mythology? Aphrodite's son? The epitome love and desire? Cupid?"

 

"Yeah, but then, it was creepy when I got to actually making the details."

 

Louis nods, urging Zayn to continue.

 

"Like, yeah I aimed for Cupid first, because marble is for elegance and such, yeah? But then there were these black splotches on it like someone smothered it in tar. I tried cleaning it with some materials, but it just won't let off. The tint of black you see it in is the lightest it can go."

 

Oh. "So are you going to finish it then?"

 

"I have no idea, mate." Zayn replies after a long pause. "I'm not even sure what I'm making anymore; I'll probably just put it on storage? Till I get a better sense of where I'm taking this." He tilts his head to the side, weighing down the options. "Probably dispose of it? I don't know, I'll think about it.

 

Louis shrugs, approaching the marble with a quiet ease, marveling on its detail with nothing but pure interest, allowing himself to especially pay interest to its dark crevices.

 

"What do you reckon this will turn out to be?"

 

"Hmm?" An arm was placed onto his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

 

"Is it still going to turn out to be an angel like Eros?"

 

"Well," Zayn pauses, eyeing each corner with calculating eyes. "I honestly don't have an idea mate, like I've barely even scratched the surface for the wings; can be a bloody fairy if it doesn't turn out dark like the others, but again, the endless possibilities."

 

That makes sense.

 

That makes so much sense.

 

Louis agrees, his stomach begging to be fed.

 

"So you mentioned breakfast?"

 

Zayn smirks, grabbing a fedora by the door and sliding it onto his hair, before crossing his arms.

 

"Not until you clean the mushroom town you spilt in your room."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, annoyed. "I'll get to it eventually."

 

"So, never?"

 

Louis stares at him.

 

"Oh come on Louis," Zayn tuts, a smirk again painting his lips, teasing. "Didn't your mother tell you to clean up after your messes?"

 

"And I remember an offering of breakfast, but we don't see that happening, do we?" He retorts, placing a hand on his hips.

 

Zayn studies him for a second, mouth opening and closing as he had an internal debate.

 

Louis is just waiting for the bomb to drop.

 

It doesn't.

 

"Touché."

 

And yeah, Louis supposes. Maybe they'll be the best of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for readinggg!!!
> 
> Any questions/concerns my tumblr is: pidgeontoestyles 
> 
> .x


	4. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He meets Niall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -face palm- Gosh, finally got to finishing this chapter!!! Thank you for everyone who is reading this, you are all beautiful!! :) .xx

• • •

Louis had yet to see a strand of Zayn Malikses meandering around the flat.

Now it would've been great if he had some sort of idea where he might find the raven-haired bloke: so that he wouldn't have to go through six-degrees of separation, every single fucking time he woke with sleep-encrusted lashes and what he had hoped was chocolate milk (thankfully dried already before it even made a mark in the world--more specifically Louis' only bed) stuck to his cheeks that acted as a glue of sorts. The bloody thing kept Louis' face engraved onto its soft, fluffy pillows like another Hollywood memorial plaster (not that it wasn't pleasant, but if one is to undertake the position in which Louis is in, with a gut wrenching urge to piss with such a teeny, tiny bladder to accompany his compacted frame, surely the rest is pretty self-explanatory at this point).

Life is not fair.

Much to his distaste, Zayn still had yet to offer his cell number so that they can keep in touch, probably plan out some elaborate, very detailed ways to locate the lad to entertain Louis in this expensive, gold-encrusted flat. And though he felt fleeting emotions of anxiety, he too also felt the overwhelming sense of excitement and elated feelings that comes along with meeting new people, and...

As of right now, he's sure that his first day is in at least 2 days in counting, but 23 hours to be exact.

Fuck.

And as much as he'd love to go galavanting into the unknown, and scour the depths of the wealthy and powerful, Louis' prep time is very limited.

His day usually consisted of waking up midday in nothing but his blue, plain, ratty boxers (that could potentially be his lucky charm) that had scruffs and burnt marks splattered onto each corner--it's pretty shitty, (that much he can admit), but it's gotten him out of picking out the weeds from his high school footy field and won him a weeks worth of snack tabs from their local cafeteria, then picking out some things in the pantry that consisted of cold cereal with some freshly toasted chicken nuggets (because of course) and (just-out-of-the-fridge) milk in a clear, transparent glass that Louis refuses to acknowledge the price of (because it looked akin to his mum's diamond necklace, with its transparent vibrancy that echoed pristine and expensive), then spend the rest of the day, either viewing some insightful, helpful-beyond belief videos on YouTube that varied from music videos by some new blood boy band that debuted with bubble-gum pop songs to learning how to train a turtle to eat its own leg, then somehow clicking a recommended link on the best ways to cook chow mien, all within the same hour.

It's bloody ridiculous.

But still, the one day (most definitely not the first, but no one can prove anything--nope) where he needed another soul to fill the gaps, or probably shadow his footsteps (because he secretly craves the company of another person, and nobody could prove anything, nope), is the day when Zayn chooses to specifically disappear onto the unexplored, aesthetically indulging oblivion where Louis Tomlinson is (probably) prohibited from entering, like, ever.

Louis felt alone.

Louis is bored.

Louis is hungry.

So, it comes to no surprise that he finds himself in a grocery store. His hair askew, sticking out in all directions; akin to a tornado, while his jumper was sopping in the morning rain, jade green grass clippings sticking to every damp corner of his jumper (in courtesy of the quaint lady a block from where Louis stood, that's crazy enough to mow with a bloody umbrella and a lack of any decent clothing--no he didn't see a thing--he probably won't be able to for the rest of his life, he thinks), and sweat, mainly sweat.

He blames the early rumbling of the sky, the different shades of silver, grey clouds shaping itself onto the horizon. He blames his lack of physique, he blames his lack of any viable work-out, he blames his lack of motivation, he blames gravity, but truthfully his main problem would be the latter.

Why?

Because apparently the boy had some kind of ability to be able to walk through walls like the bloody ghost he was, seamlessly avoiding any dissonance to shatter the thin sheet of silence that latched onto each crevice of the flat, which left him questioning whether the bloke had been a bloody fae in the last life, skittering about places, having untimely disappearances, and appearing some time prior midday, constructing impeccable works of art that may or may not be a threat to Louis' life in some way, shape or form (he's still not sure).

It was when he was meandering around the whole grocery store, trying to decide whether he should pick either the orange-flavored Aero bar or the regular, minty one that he met Niall Horan.

The meeting was bitterly predictable, yet not, like the makings of a comedy show, which left a seed of unsettlement to ingrain itself into Louis' poor, frail heart.

The perpetrator had a full head of metallic blonde hair (that much Louis could tell from behind), and the next thing he found out was that he was Irish: loud, boisterous, _choke-his-neck-with-sharp-talons_ confident little fucker Louis had ever settle his eyes on. The boy's even got this satanic lapis lazuli eyes with golden specks surrounding the cornea, glittering even under the dim, fluorescent lighting. Louis could smell the stench of enormous wealth and pristine snob from miles away. He tucks his button nose into the neckline of his jumper.

Much better.

The Irish boy did not even acknowledge Louis (much to his distaste, because come on, can he be anymore vivid?) when he was anxiously awaiting on a free sample line for his turn for a generous amount of cheese-filled sausage slices.

How long has it been? 15 minutes already? (Louis'd probably guess a century) and all the Irish lad did was gobble up each and every single sausage like breathing air, and at the same time, sending disturbingly, empty wiles to the server, breathed with ecstatic, but casual promises of wishful purchases.

Of course, the middle-aged lady swooned, but kept up with the facade of a calm, collected flower, saturated with scents of acquired taste, occasionally pretending to disagree, but then yielding to temptation and shoving a silver toothpick with a pre-sliced sausage impaled right onto its middle with much fervor, into the lad's mouth that you can mistake the two as a single unit of body touching one another; skin-on-skin. Louis shouldn't be grossed out, but he is.

"Hey mate." Louis calls out, crossing his arms across his chest.

Blondie doesn't even bother turning around, still busy indulging himself on the leisurely life of cheese-filled tubes of meat, practically dancing in Louis' line of vision.

"Oi!" Louis plows on, stomach rumbling and demanding food offering of sorts, prodding at him relentlessly, mouth salivating from the smell of freshly cooked sausages that is about a fuckin' meter away.

But unfortunately...

Still nothing.

Louis tries a different approach: casually whistling his way to the front of the line, breaking the rather revolting, flirty winks exchanged between the two, and physically yanking a fresh batch that lay row-on-row on a sheen, silver platter, and sending the blonde boy a dirty leer, before strutting onto another aisle, without so much as having the slight urge to see how the boy would've reacted.

Okay, maybe a slight peek would do.

Yep, just as he predicted, bloody awestruck he was.

Good.

Louis smiles as he hungrily shoves down each piece of sausage with quiet reverence. He wasn't even aware of his capability to be this hungry--like fucking never, but as stupid, and as manic he may have looked with chipmunk-sized cheeks, Louis'd probably take the title of 'King of meat' (or any label at that), and he wouldn't feel an ounce of guilt, heck, he can even wear a cap with the same illustrations written all over him in bright and glittering neon paint if that would mean that he'd be gifted with a blessing such as this every time he'd so much as to pay the grocery store a visit (because, come on, exercise; a rarity to Louis). So he kept on with a steady pace, shoveling sausage by sausage into his mouth till he felt an eery sound of freshly polished shoes, squeak from right behind me.

Louis freezes mid-bite, then shrugging it off as the dull squeaking ceases, continuing on from where he left off, and plucking another sausage from the ornate silver tray, but felt a presence approach him from behind, tapping a quiet finger onto his shoulder.

Who would've thought.

Blondie' back.

"Can I help you?" Louis asks, a little bitchier than he would've liked, wiping away excess grease from his lips with the back sleeves of his jumper (oh well, might as well get the bloody thing dirtier, because anything relating to cleanliness is such an obscene idea to ever conjure up).

Blondie' expression never changes, much less even reply.

Louis frowns, and the quiet lingers.

"Okay...then..."

At some point, Louis found the stranger's presence to be a bit of a constant annoyance, so he gently picks up the tray with a quiet huff, and left the conversation (can that really be seen or referred to as a conversation?) at that, again, without the thought of ever looking back.

Cue the damn spotlight, because he'll be here all night.

"Niall Horan."

Louis pauses, just as he was about to head for the sliding doors.

"Excuse me?"

Blondie--Apparently Niall Horan (?), approaches Louis, before offering a blinding smile with perfectly framed, impeccably polished canine teeth. "My name's Niall Horan." He states, offering a hand to Louis, who was way beyond confused.

Nevertheless, Louis takes the proffered hand reluctantly, offering his own name in return, because what? Louis could've sworn he was going to get tackled by this idiot the moment they were alone--not that Louis' expecting anything like that, but it's best to be prepared at least. Thank all that is holy that he, more or less is on par with the lad, height-wise.

Blondie nods, appearing uninterested.

Louis chews on his lower lip. He didn't enjoy being under someone's unwavering scrutiny, and he can barely tolerate his time to be wasted in something annoyingly pointless as standing around in squelchy Van's in the middle of the tampon aisle, so it's only natural that he turns away, with a quiet smile, before sliding his phone within his fingertips, pretending to look busy, when all he was doing was typing some weird shit to Zayn (whose number he is still yet to acquire) about whether he should run now, or--

"I like your shoes."

And what? What did he just say?

"Pardon?" Louis tried to act coy, awkwardly pivoting his compacted limbs a 360 to face Niall. "I must've heard you wrong, can you please repeat that--"

Niall guffaws, once again annoying the fuck out of Louis.

"What's so funny?"

But Niall ensues like somebody's tickling his ribcage, laughing, laughing, laughing like he's been told the funniest joke he's ever heard of in his life, and yeah, Louis' sort of tempted to shove a potato down his pale, little Irish throat.

"The way you responded!" He starts, spurts of giggles escaping his greasy mouth. "Oh my _god_! The way you responded was such a gut-buster man!!!"

Louis frowns, and crosses his arms tightly against his chest, obviously igniting himself in hot, frustrated rage. "And what's funny about the way that I talk? Do I sound ludicrous enough for you? Or should I--"

But Niall's shaking his head, still radiating sunbeams and fine glitter with every laugh, and Louis is pretty sure that shoving a potato in his mouth would only do him more justice as a pence in some famous brand store, so he kept his hands firmly by his sides, knowing that he'll be able to keep track of them better if he knows that they're there and not mangling this blonde idiot's neck.

"No man, you got it wrong!" Niall assures, chuckling quietly to himself. "I wasn't, like, trying to make fun of you or anything, but you sounded awfully like one of those posh stereotypes, with them British accents and carefully strung sentences, so I couldn't resist."

Louis raises a questioning brow. "And you're not used to that? Mr. Rolex?" And it was true, apart from his ratty denim sleeveless coat and an ironed white tee, and a fitted Levi jeans, Niall Horan wore a polished pair of suede high tops and a black, gold-encrusted Rolex watch that is essentially an answer for world hunger.

The blonde boy only shrugs showing off a ' _what does that have to do with anything_ ' look, before clapping Louis on the back. "You're pretty interesting Tommo," he states, and what? Since when were they on a nickname bases already?! "How about we go for a snack or something? This store's not really going to do much for you, than provide you with grime and greasy food."

At that, Louis raises a questioning brow, because didn't this boy just eat about 3 trays of 'grime and grease', less than 10 minutes ago? "Didn't you just gobble down like, 6 trays of grease-soaked sausages?"

Niall didn't even deny it.

"That's because I'd eat pretty much anything," he confesses--like that explanation was enough--with a blinding smile. Fuck, how the hell can he talk, let alone smile like he's been given the key to a vault full of brimming pastries? Louis somehow manages to reflect a faulty grin. "And I'm just offering, you know? You don't really have to go.

How long has this blonde idiot been wasting his time?

"Really? I'll be taking my leave th--" he was about to agree to leaving this somewhat unconventional meeting and head back over to his flat to rummage his belongings just to drown out the senseless, irrational decision to try and fetch Zayn from wherever crevice he may have lurked, but the way Niall annoyingly crowds within the minimal distance between the both of them, and claps him on the back with a rapidly growing smirk prevented him from doing so.

"None sense!" He boasts heartily, giving Louis a firm shake of the head like he'd just proclaim his love for carrots and all its varieties of artificially-made tones. "I offered, so you, my friend--"

"-since when have been friends--"

Niall's literally placing an arm around his shoulders and he's fucking dragging him, like physically extracting Louis out the fucking doors.

"Should feel obligated--"

"-why the hell should I feel obligated?! I barely fuckin' know you--"

Annnnd, why isn't anyone stopping him?

Come on!

Was it because of the sausages?

Because he'll literally buy like 5 packs of those if that'll get this blithe idiot away from him.

"-when a friend offers you something to eat, because I for one, am thinking of your well-being--"

"-what well-being are you referring to?! I can take care of myself just fine, I--"

"-and thought that you should at least be spared of anything other than, what is essentially the leftover droppings of the rich." And the fact that he spoke with such conviction and brutal honesty, Louis can only reply with a silent huff, hugging his arms tightly to his chest, in his last attempt of humility.

And to his horror, he's literally out in the street, with pompous socialites who rode expensive, newly customized car brands, whispering to the other's ear with gawking squeals and the latest yacht purchase, how their father had brandished a few more millions pounds, and how they'll gladly spend about half of that for a new Micheal Kors bag that's unreleased to the public till next year, while having their nails shined, painted and bedazzled with glittering diamond cuts, and they're just having the greatest bloody time of their lives (without having to care for anything, no responsibilities, no obligation--nothing), as they dispose of their empty Starbucks frappucinos onto the ground without so much as missing a beat of their conversation as a burly, middle-aged men had followed in after them with pristine shopping bags and boxed pastries in tow.

Louis really hates rich people.

"So, I take it you're saying yes?" Niall questions, a mocking smirk protruded along his annoyingly Irish expression (yes, it's a thing--shut up).

"And what makes you so confident that I'm saying yes, exactly?" Louis asks, averting his gaze to something more worthy of bringing attention to.

Niall does nothing but widen his smirk. "Because I've not heard a single _no_ , so I take it you're up and willing, am I correct?"

"Don't try to act smart with me." Louis rolls his eyes with an exhausted huff, refusing to be handled like this. "D'you really think I'd spend my hard-earned cash to some store a bloody stranger is--"

"I'm no stranger, I'm Niall Horan, rememb--"

"--offering me a _pricey_ , yet questionable meal, and expecting that I'd be up and willing to burn thousands of pounds to--"

"Wait, wait, wait." Niall furrows his brow. "The fuck are you on about, mate?! I'm the one offering, so why would I expect for you to pay for anything."

Silence.

"So, I don't have to pay for anything.." Louis states mindlessly.

"You don't have to pay for _anything_." Niall confirms, appearing all business-like, like they're actually discussing something relevant, something that's worth a fuckton of pounds.

Ridiculous.

"And you're going to bring me to somewhere fancy? Do I need to prepare a decent tip?"

Niall all but chuckles at his weak attempts of sounding unenthusiastic and monotonous.

"Naa," Niall shakes his head, hair staying neatly in place. "I've got your back Tomlinson, so just fucking gimme a bloody answer already."

"You're not going to allow me to leave out of here anyway." Louis tries, fighting back the accomplished grin that threatened to leak away from his lips.

Niall's teeth gleamed under the moonlit sky, like positively radiated!!! (How does he even manage that?!). "That's the spirit!!!"

And they were off.

 

-

 

"So, are you interested in me or something?" Louis teases, swallowing down some of his sloshy drink, feeling the familiar heat rise up his cheeks.

Screw air-conditioning and all that, it's got nothing on him.

Niall, true to his word, had brought Louis in a nearby restaurant, heartily naming off dishes Louis can barely even imagine. He mentioned something about escargots, caviars, and soufflés--something that he had vaguely heard from Master Chef--but all he hears is that familiar 'Cha Ching' of registers flying out the window like flower petals drifting along the soft caress of the wind.

But..

Apparently the boy wasn't close to being done, because in an attempt to shove more bills of cash inside Louis' eye sockets, the Irish bastard had called for the brightest, most ostentatious limo he had ever owned, and offered a ride to Louis, which may or may not have Louis' knees to wobble, with just a dapple of uncertainty (or most likely because it's his first time to ever ride a limo like that; he wishes it was on situations that account him more favourable) as Niall smirks, even fucking opening the door with a soundless click for him to enter in.

About 20 minutes of relentless wine drinking, Louis and Niall stumble out of the limo with flushed cheeks, (most likely from the wine), loose limbed and both hands occupied with empty ivory plates of what was filled with dozens of shrimp cocktails, and smudges of god-send chicken kabobs crumbs peppered onto a white linen shirt that Niall had shoved (aggressively--rude!) onto his face.

The Irish lad wasn't much different--in fact, he looked like an outright homeless person if it wasn't for the bib (Niall called it a napkin, but it's essentially a bib) that he had fancily shoved onto the front collar of his shirt and ate in a more controlled, pleasant mannerism that if that was how Louis had first seen the boy eat, being a slob in itself would not be the right word to accommodate Niall Horan.

It was at least a quarter after nine, when Niall notions the driver to halt at an open parking space, clapping the man on the back with unending thank you's that one's assumption would've mistaken the two for a cabby and a very grateful customer, a very generous customer who whispers animatedly into the man's ear with a quiet giggle, shoving a couple of one hundred pound bills onto the man's lapel, before waving him off with Louis on tow.

The town is a spectacle with its brightly lit dark crevices, and distant chatters.

It would've been better if he could see properly, but the wine's pleasantly humming in his veins and all he could do was laugh along with Niall about absolutely nothing, pointing and giggling at penis-shaped blobs and throwing in the dirtiest jokes he could ever think of on the spot.

He thinks they sound more like drunken slurs, but nonetheless, Niall's laugh is alarmingly loud, and yeah, he can laugh at anything.

Louis didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned.

"What do you think that is? Some sort of hovering light?" Louis asks, tapping his chin as he squints in an attempt to clear his obscure, splotchy-filled haze.

Apparently, neither can Niall. "Donno, mate, I reckon it's aliens, calling for their queen back." He states with a flirty wink aimed most definitely at Louis.

"'The fuck' did you say Horan?" Louis snaps, surprisingly intolerant to the blonde boy's teasing.

"Did I say it was you?" He smirks.

Louis huffs, blatantly ignoring the subject to steer the conversation into something more logical, rather than mindless chatters for once.

"But it's not moved an inch ever since I've been staring at it, so it can't be a bloody alien."

Okay, close _enough_ , he supposes.

Sigh.

Though he's (mildly) unaware of exactly what he was looking at, because lamp posts can look exactly like a bright, beaming beacon that is begging to be touched; Louis is sure of his speculation (or he's 28% sure).

Louis feels like a firefly.

He wants to touch the light.

And yeah, he really is fucking drunk.

His lightly teetering stance aside, Louis thinks he recognizes the street, even if the world appeared with just a slight accent of a rippling blurs. He can remember the rustic oak wood sign that indicated some consonants and probably some vowels Louis couldn't even begin to comprehend, a few rambunctious interiors, some odors of freshly butchered meat laced in fine picked herbs. He probably should visit that place when he's a little more rationally-able, and probably drag Zayn (and probably said Liam) to have some bonding type things he's been craving as of late. He doubts he's going to remember any of this in the morning, much less even attempt any type of movement.

He should really remember to write everything down.

Question was, which one was the 'a' again?

Challenge accepted.

"Weren't we just here?" Louis had questioned, raising his brow with questioning eyes, because yes, he might've been slightly inebriated but he knows, knows that he's seen the familiar set of lighting before.

Niall shrugged, with a smug smirk. "I didn't say that we were very far from it."

"But you could've told me--"

"And to ruin my chances of possibly knocking you off your knickers with my sick-ass ride? Who do you think I am? Llain naroh?" Niall had supplied, though his answer sounded more of a statement, rather than a question. Fuck, this boy can even spell backwards when he's drunk? Or better yet, is he even the least bit tipsy?

A fuckin' stereotype he says.

_Hypocrisy!_

He's calling it now!

Louis had rolled his eyes (obviously recognizing the joke, but he's so far from that type of acquaintanceship, or anything ship for Louis to be endeared), and told the Irish boy to lead, that way he wouldn't have to contemplate the lad's death in many colourful, very creative scenarios (which may or may not have involved the use of potatoes to be lodged obscenely down the boy's throat in the majority of them) that in no shape or form pleasant.

Niall laughed (probably from hearing Louis' thoughts--note to self: stay off of the tequila), voice carrying out in the wind, along with the soft patter of their footsteps, but ecstatically lead the away without much protest, eyes glinting even coated in the soft ebony and velvet lavender shade of the night sky.

"Hmm?" Niall asks, as he slices onto his third--mind you, third steak of the evening with a questioning brow.

Louis scoffs, fixing away at his floppy fringe that still refuses to co-operate, which earned Louis a few sneers from the obnoxious hyenas situated closest to the door, as the two have entered respectively into the restaurant. "Don't be daft, you must've been interested in me to take me out to a fancy dinner like this."

"You're fit." Niall supplies uselessly.

"But?"

The lad smirks at that. "Why do you assume that there's a 'but' afterwards?"

Louis crosses his arms. This fucker.... Why did Louis agree to this again? "From the 3 hours I've known you Horan, I'm sure if it's you, you wouldn't leave much of short sentence without breaking a heart or two."

"That," Niall laughs, unabashed. "is probably true."

The brunette groans with an angry huff as he nibbles on a few breadsticks.

"Just get on with it you fucker!"

Apparently Niall was finished with all the teasing (well not quite done, because he still snickered as he spoke). " _But_ ," he mimicked with a wink, voice sounding sharp, much like Louis' (rude). "you're not my type of meat."

And it was by that sentence that Louis choked, prevented the expansion of his fuckin' lungs momentarily and he lost, lost it, with his calm, collected demeanor flying out mid-west into the fricking prairies or something and lived on with the sharks, because he's gone ballistics, spitting unattractive clumps of meat a few feet off of Niall's shoulders, and into to some poor sap's suit.

The blonde fucker smirks, he smirks and crosses his arms, satisfied, probably edging to a borderline of being smug, and Louis hates it really, hates that no matter how icy he tried to appear in front of this boy, no matter how cold his demeanor might have appeared, there's no stopping this boy who radiates the sun, who reeks of overpriced brands of perfumes and probably an endless amount of wealth.

Louis is reminded of a fucking chimp, a chimp, who, even if they're made fun of for throwing crap at other people on their free time, are still unfazed by the on-lookers who leered at their directions, and still continue with what they're doing unabashedly, and boldly as they laugh at each other get socked on the eye with extra hearty feces that drooped disgustingly close to their mouths.

The only difference that Louis had seen between Niall and the chimps was that Niall's surrounded with probably every kind of overpriced foreign delicacies laced in gilt and bedazzled with carefully picked out jewels that originated from some coal mine that his parents might've owned, but amidst any of the privileged wealth, Niall might be that type of person to enjoy life, and live every moment life with utmost cordiality, no matter what the situation may be. That, and he had a head full of annoyingly blonde hair to prevent any confusion of sorts with the the differentiation process.

And this speculation is just from what he's seen today.

The boy's like a bright, gleaming ball of sunshine.

Louis had the urge to wear shades whenever he made direct eye contact with him.

"So what're you planning to do for the rest of the night?" Niall says casually, fiddling with his empty pint.

"Thought you weren't interested?" Louis raises a brow, teasing, as he finishes the last of his pretty blue drink.

Niall snorts, amused. "I _mean_ , if you're not going to do much for the rest of the night, I was thinking of inviting you to a party, you know? Get wasted 'n all that?"

Uh.

"Aren't we already?" Louis mentally buried his face in response, already thinking of the endless possibilities on what the blonde boy was about to say, even before the boy can breathe a word.

Louis hates that he can potentially be able to read this boy like an open book.

Louis' so done with today.

"A couple of wine's not going to do you anything but a stubble on your cheek, come on Tommo, you should at least savour the taste of freedom!"

"You do realize that the start of the semester is less than 2 days away, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything? That's like comparing a tomato and a salad." states Niall offhandedly.

And what?

"Don't tomatoes go on a salad? So, like if you compare it, you can easily say that one's a tomato; singular, and one's plural, with varieties of veggies with it--come to think of it, aren't they both vegeta--"

"Okay, okay, I didn't ask for an English wiz."

Louis gasps, this boy's unnervingly blunt. He didn't know whether he liked him or not.

"You're the one that invited me here, so I take it that the blame's on you."

"You had the right to say no--"

"But you wouldn't have let me other wise--"

"I would've if you didn't want to--"

"You were literally _man handling_ me to the door, even before I even got an answer out earlier; what makes this time any different?"

Niall scans the planes of his face for some sort of indication, smile still terrifyingly evident through the brightness of his teeth, before pulling Louis up from his chair and tugging him exceptionally close for a brief, almost fleeting moment for a warm, yet monstrous tackle, and clapping him on the back before the boy's grip eases and he's released.

"Gimme your number."

Louis wrinkles his nose with pure distaste. "Excuse me? You think I'll allow you to have my number? After you've fucking dragged me against my will just to get me to hang out with you?!" This boy must be totally wasted if he'd so much as think of acquiring Louis' cell number.

But then again, he didn't show much of an indication of any possible signs to even accredit the boy to such title.

At that, Niall smiles, literally fucking smiles a dazzling smile, enough to overtake his face, like he knows, knows something that Louis might not.

 

Louis is reminded of Puck.

 

He feels uncomfortable.

 

He feels the slight quake of his shoes.

 

Louis thinks he might puke.

 

He chose for the most modern way to avoid further conversations: take out his phone.

And of course, the moment he's had the damn thing out, Niall ' _oh-so-gracefully_ ' snatches his expensive--pocket-burning may he add-- electronic from his fingertips, snagged it with the utmost precision, sliding his fingertips over the damn thing, even before Louis could get a word out: even before he can manage to spew out some none sense as to why--in under no circumstances--should he absolutely not touch the phone.

Louis is a complete and utter imbecile, he's admitting to that now.

"Oi, give it back, you Irish bastard!" He growls, tackling the boy to the ground as he tries to make a grab for his phone. "Oiiii!"

"Hold on, hold on." Niall sticks his tongue to the corner of his mouth as he continues to type briefly onto the keypad, unshaken by Louis' struggle to grab the bloody thing out of his pallid, milky hands accompanied by a clear coat of glitter that saturated his finger nails.

The struggle is real.

"Come on Horan, gimme my fucking--" the phone was shoved onto his face, even before he could make a grab for the boy's hair, so that he could yank it, and hopefully snatch every strand from its roots like an overly priced, ostentatious wig that's brandished from the finest gold strands in courtesy of Aphrodite herself, so that he can make to sell it on Amazon and make tons of money.

"You know, you really are a piece of--"

"Would both of you prefer to be exerted out, or will I have to finally use some of my unspeakable sources to specifically give the both of you the boot?"

The man in the ebony suit seemed to have recognized Niall, and Niall him. Sadly, Louis isn't the only one to bare the said distaste for this arrogant sunflower.

"S'fine Jean, you may leave." Niall smiles easily, light pouring out from his eyes and polite as he leads Louis with a quick uplift through the armpits and out the door, wordlessly as they entered Niall's limo that positively gleamed under the radiant moon.

The man gawks, but follows the order, busying himself with semi-lazy strides towards the other side of the premises.

"So I'm guessing you've met."

Louis was the first one to break the silence, because of course.

Niall smirks, shrugging. "Can't say that I haven't had my share in thoroughly enjoyed midnight escapades."

At that, Louis is a bit curious.

"Lemme guess, you showed your man-sausage in the restaurant for the extravagant, _exquisite guests_ to see?" He says it with a mocking sneer, propping his chin on his hand as they're sat inside the said limo.

Niall cackles, almost breaking Louis' ear drums.

"Close, but a hairline away."

"Oh?" Louis raises an eyebrow at that.

"Just, mucking ruckus in 'them washrooms, s'all." Niall shrugs, a nonchalant, easy gaze steady in the unmoving scenery, almost frozen with barren driveways and empty, wispy air brushing along the flower baskets displayed artfully, hanging in expensive, procured ropes with small, wooden hooks that are used to displaying aesthetically pleasing decorations on small, quaint shops, and archaically-licked pathways strewn with forest green mosses, and flowers blooming in different shades of purple and blue.

"Excuse me, what?"

And because he was too drawn into his own world that he had momentarily forgotten that he was speaking to this overindulgent potato, who seemed more amused, rather than annoyed on Louis' lack of inquiry.

"I said, I fucked a chick, and got caught." Niall repeats, as a-matter-of-a-factly, speaking monotonously, and undeterred. "Easy as that."

"The man looked like he was about to castrate, Horan, I'm sure there's more to the story than what you're feeding me."

Niall brightens like a fucking super nova, brightens as he guffaws, onto the gods above; or what is, essentially the opening to the limousine on its roof.

"Probably because it became a casual meeting." He sniffs, smoothening a crinkle on his sleeves.

Louis manages to leer pure in utter disgust for a second before bursting into unbridled laughter that one can ever achieve. He was essentially choking, choking on the neckline that was buttoned up all too much, choking on his overly filled belly, choking on air that he breathed for pete sakes (if that was even possible).

"Excuse me what?!" He asks, sniggering. "Are you saying you've shagged a girl in that restaurant? More than once?"

"Well, s'more like girls, you know, plural." Then adds with a practiced wink. "See, now your not the only fucking English wiz in this 'ere county."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"Of course." Niall smiles politely.

The silence reemerges to the surface, and the two appeared seemingly into their own worlds, before Niall's knee was bouncing annoyingly into the limo's surface, giving the engine a bit of a light squeak.

Louis furrows his brow, finding the excessive squeaking a bit too unbearable, and shielding his annoyance with a slight cough, sniffing as he fixes his glare onto the window.

Niall, the fucker who obviously is a naive little sunshine (because Louis, for some reason at a lighter mood, but he won't tell him that), carries on with his notion, quickening his little episode of knee spasms and began tapping at his knees as beat to a song that Louis' barely even aware of.

The movement felt fluid, so he could've mistaken it for something else, but he managed to sink his claws down Niall's knee within a second, like a snake slithering silently, hastily through the bushes, avoiding any indications of its location, then expanding its mouth, lunging at its prey before it can even waste another breath, sinking its ivory teeth onto the succulent flesh, then releasing its poison without a second thought.

It's a beautiful demise.

But...

Louis' no snake...

_Yet._

"Niall, mate." And he even topped his expression off with a tight-lipped smile to add that extra cherry on top. "You don't got some knee spasms, I reckon?"

Niall looked confused, crossing his legs for a second, and tapping his chin, almost as if he's in deep contemplation.

Louis' smile dropped as soon as he sees the lad dialing his cell, and scrolling over his contact list, then pressing the screen tightly to his ears.

"Hey Bill," he croons, holding up a finger to silence Louis, who was about to speak in defiance, because who was this idiot bothering in the middle of the night? "I, yeah, just wondering, is knee spasms one of the side-effects? Because I--"

"Hi Bill, it's Louis, yes, yes, he's fine, goodnight!" Louis wiped away the cold sweat that formulated beads on his forehead, hanging up the phone before the man could speak another word. "Phew."

Niall looked amused, as he analyzed Louis from where he sat.

"Seriously?!" Louis exasperates, throwing the phone to where the boy's manhood was located, only to have the notion intercepted, as Niall makes to catch the damn thing with another arrogant smirk to match. "You fucking called your doctor in the middle of the night to check if you actually had knee spasms?!"

"Actually," Niall settles further into the deep purple cushions behind him. "That was my knee therapist." He states as a matter-of-a-factly.

Louis raises a brow.

"And I pray you, Horan, why would you need a knee therapist? Broke your leg or something?"

At that, Niall literally fucking brightens. "Wow Tommo, you're literally on a roll today, how did you know?"

Louis snorts, his laughter awaiting at bay. "Probably because," he had to bite his tongue, like literally to hide his amusement, even if it's momentary. "You're too busy jumping down the ends of a rainbow."

Niall barks out a laugh.

"Ain't that a bit stereotypical mate?"

Louis raises a challenging brow.

"And you're telling me that?"

Niall manages to wipe a stray tear away.

"Fair enough, fair enough, that." He agrees jovially, scarfing down some delicately designed pastries that sat on a large cream plate right beside him. The lad offered Louis a pastry when he catches Louis' gaze, but Louis refuses, patting his overstuffed belly, as he leaned back comfortably onto the cushion of his seats. "But, yes, m'knee's been bothering me for a while, most likely during my victorious leaps, so I had wee little surgery on it."

Louis scrubs at his face, because this isn't happening.

There's about 12 hours before the first day, and he couldn't believe he had to spend it with an assertive, annoyingly abrasive character such as Niall Horan, so he makes to head out the door, only to be halted with a yank to the wrist, which sent him flying back to where he sat with a dull thump.

"And where do you think you're going Tommo? The _loo_?"

Louis snorts, crossing his arms. "Actually, I plan to go back to my flat if you're all done with the shoving of the cash down my throat act."

Niall threw a surprised laugh, scarfing down some tiramisu that Louis could have sworn had not been there, prior to his attempt of his only way of escape.

"S'not an act Tommo." He states, "Just wanted to treat a new face 'round the town, is it really that bad? From I look'it, I'm sure you enjoyed yourself."

It's true, which made it even harder for Louis to stop picking at his fingernails and meet gazes with the lad.

"So, I understand that you wanted to get home to your flat as soon as possible, yeah?"

Louis nods.

"So then tell me which building and I'll drop 'ye off, deal? No hassle, just the plain old _hop-n-drop_."

He's not even sure if he can trust the lad yet, but Louis silently instructs their driver to the location, then propped himself comfortably back at his seat.

Across from him, Niall opens up a cigar case, offering Louis one, then shrugging when Louis had refused, rolling down his window, and blowing out strands of smoke in the open, midnight air.

Catching signs of the familiar sight of the flat Louis silently got off hastily, but Niall stops him long enough to provide Louis with flirty winks and generous, hefty promises of late night parties and endless booze to tend to his disposal if he ever needed a time to vent about his life problems again. Louis was about to cut in, but the door closed as fast he entered.

The limo was gone within seconds.

As Louis makes to turn for the gates, he hears distinct chatters and howls right from the building adjacent to him. Curious, he sees a large tower connecting to that, and a hunched figure on its ledge.

Louis opens his mouth to probably offer some feeble attempts of forewarning and safety, but the figure forces himself to stand up, soft curls caressing the winds, and lithe, milky skin marveled at by the moon. Louis couldn't look away. The figure then swoops down for a dive, as he leaps down at a trained pose, his weight, piercing through the cold winds, but then shielded by the enormous building in right front of it for Louis to even make out its results.

The silence drew on, till he felt the cold splash at his exposed skin.

But then, that was enough, because as if he was in a small trance, Louis blinks himself awake, as he forgets the scene entirely, haunted by the frost that stuck to his skin, as he retires to his rooms for the night.

• • •

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my Tumblr is pidgeontoestyles !! :) .xx


	5. IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's Liam Payne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4, please enjoy! :)

•••

It's as he was pouring steaming, hot water over his cupped ramen that he sees Zayn: dressed effortlessly onto a black shirt and fitted navy blue jeans, his hands adorned in dark, ornate silver rings. His hair is in an artful mess, like not one of those sloppy joe type of mess where it stains clothes--no-- but coleslaw that's been thrown together, along with different colours of green and purple from the cabbage and onions, maybe a bit of sweet red peppers and thyme. And it's such a disarray, with that much colour, but it works out in the end, and it's served with every succulent protein known to man; tall and disheveled, but chic and sexy at the same time.

Damn. This boy is all about fashion, isn't he?

How is Louis still surprised by this?

Why is Louis still surprised by this?

Moreover,

Note to self: Do not try to make metaphors at a quarter past twelve, specifically when he's sporting on an empty stomach.

"You know you shouldn't be eating that Lou," he says, striding over effortlessly from where he stood by the arch opening from the kitchen adjoining the living room. It's like a scene to a movie or something (or maybe a reality show?): one where the camera is following him around, watching him meandering around the flat for days on end, preferably to see him in starkers as he wades around the granite pool around the backyard of the flat? Better. Louis is proud. He deserves, like a pat on the back or something. "S'bad for your health and shit, you know?"

Louis shrugs, slightly miffed (just slightly), eyeing him up and down, unabashed, because he can. He's bad cop after all.

"And you're telling me this, why?" Because Zayn's not going to get the 'nice', or 'somewhat decent' Louis till he begins explaining himself, and fill Louis in with his previous whereabouts, let alone having to explain to him of the boy's lack flesh in any crevice of his lithe frame in comparison to his envy-worthy bum and semi-decent build. And his cell number, he definitely needs his cell number.

So he asks.

"Hey, gimme your phone for a 'mo."

Zayn shrugs, handing him the phone without question.

"So where do you usually go?" Louis murmurs nonchalantly, eyes on the screen as he began tapping through Zayn's contacts, and pressing on a new file.

"Hmm?" Zayn hums, as he pokes at the cup of Louis' brewing noodles, then (when he couldn't find much more things to do) lighting his cigarette in an elegant, practiced pose, as he sets alight the end of the cigarette with strings of smoke clouding up the air. Louis opens a window with a quiet cough.

They should probably discuss an agreement on which part of the flat should be a smoke-free zone at least.

Zayn remains quiet, as if anticipating for Louis to somehow burst like some ticking time bomb, and tell him exactly the information he needed to know, and carry on the conversation, even if Zayn himself was the one who initiated it (well it was Louis who had asked the question, but Zayn spoke to him first, Zayn!), but no matter, patience, (he's sure he's got some of that in some parts of his perpetually idle brain), patience might be key to this enigmatic twat. So, with Louis being but a humble, but excellent conversationalist, Louis humors him.

"As in," Louis sniffs, peeling back the plastic of the styrofoam cup, engulfing its fresh scent of artificial perfection of packaged dry cilantro, spicy shrimp and whatever they call this white squishy thing with salmon pink swirls are. "Where do you go on days end? Where do you disappear to?"

Zayn shrugs. "Around a general area with people."

Louis throws him a flat look.

"Alright, alright!" Zayn smirks, holding both his hands in surrender. "I've been visiting Liam in his flat, sometimes getting lost in the woods, but don't tell a living soul that I always tell anybody who asks, that 'I'm trying to ponder deep aspects of my life', and whatever bs I can pull out of my psychology major arse."

Louis snorts. "Ah yes, I can see it now. Philosopher Malik. Brooding over the existence of condoms. Kinda has a ring to it, eh?"

Zayn barks out a surprised laugh.

"Oh yeah. Pregnancy and Chlamydia, those are always fun aren't they?" He assents, smiling wide enough that it threatens to split his face in half. "Like, condoms are a form of oppression. What's the use of them, when we can just spend the majority of our lives having plastic tubes down our noses, and having needles prickling our skin every few hours?"

Louis absolutely does not pout. "You're not very fair."

Zayn shrugs. "S'a special trait."

Louis leers at him, grabbing a fork, but decides against it, as he spots a pair of chopsticks. "Hey, since when did we get this?" He asks, raising a brow, as he weighs the metal things between his fingertips. "Never knew we'd even need something like this."

"Donno mate." Zayn shrugs. "M'guessing your previous flatmate got them prior, I reckon."

And what? Previous flatmate? He had a previous flatmate? Wasn't Zayn his roommate? Or isn't he? Louis' absolutely confused.

"And judging from your expression, I suppose you weren't aware of that information." Zayn studies his face, as he trots off to a coffee machine, watching as the steam permeates the whole kitchen.

Since when was there coffee? Louis didn't remember anyone ever entering the kitchen prior, much less see to it, filled to the brim. But, getting back to the latter. Since when did he have another flatmate?

"Uh yeah." Louis affirms. "I wasn't told about anything, just.." He shrugs. "Just went with the flow. I'd have assumed that you were my flatmate, seeing as you made yourself get quite acquainted with the place." And that was told pointedly, because Louis' sure that, that wasn't the first time Zayn had ever dragged an inanimate object back to the flat.

Zayn smiles, as he fills his mug for seconds. "Well, it is a bit of an unconventional switch up." He agrees. "Seeing as I was planning to bunk with Liam and all, but, you're an exception I suppose."

"Zayn Malik, most eloquent man in history. Sign my babies." Louis says wryly.

Zayn chuckles at the rim, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

Louis gives a satisfied smile, before guzzling down the rest of the soup, and slamming down the empty cup right after. "So why didn't you?"

"Hmm?" Zayn asks, stubbing out the end of the cigarette in an ornate platter by the sink. "Why didn't I, what?"

"You said you were going to live with Liam, but..?"

Zayn chews on his lower lip. "Well, like I said, we were, but your--his flatmate insisted the change, no matter the date."

"And it just happened like that?" Louis gasps, petrified. "Like, there aren't any conflict or anything... Of that sort?" Because nothing about those sentences made sense. He's sure he hasn't met anyone, prior to meeting Zayn, let alone cause any sort of resentment towards him or to be disliked in anyway. Louis had always been taught to act like a gentleman, and speak only in an educational manor (a rule in which Louis' having too much trouble in--but no matter, he knows the very basic building blocks to it, that he can charm his way to people in his sleep). So, really, what did Louis actually do?

As if Zayn can feel the buzz of affliction that prickled in Louis' innards, he spoke in a sort of, calm, soothing tone, as places his cigar atop the tray. "Listen, Louis." He sighs. "Mate, there is absolutely nothing that you did wrong."

"It sounds like we're doing some sort of break-up or something from Twilight." Louis asks, excited. "Oh, and can I be Bella Swan?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Louis."

"And can we get like, wigs or something? I can get, like extensions, and you can give me one of those deep contemplation expression, then we can--"

"Lou, listen." Zayn murmurs, massaging his temples as if having a headache. Rude. "His decision to switch has nothing to do with you."

"Then what is it?" Louis questions, gripping on his cup a little too tightly. "Just that he didn't like the place, or--" then he stops himself. "Wait."

Zayn's expression is unreadable, as he taps his cigarette onto the tray.

"When you say  _he_ , it seems like you know exactly who I'm talking about." Louis raises a brow, tapping one of his foot idly onto the wooden flooring. "Do you know who my flatmate was?"

Zayn shrugs. "Depends."

Louis frowns. "Depends on what, exactly?"

"Depends if you'll hold that against him, or try to track him down or something, and demand to know what his problem was." Zayn shifts, so that he's leaning a bit closer onto the granite, continuously studying Louis, as if he's seeing through a lenses of a murderer in the making.

Louis grits his teeth a little before responding, and he's not exactly sure why he's feeling this.. This curious about something that doesn't relate much to him. "Relax Zayn." Louis jests. "S'not like I'll hold a gun to his head or anything like that, but..."

Zayn drawls a hum, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I'm just.. I donno, I'm wondering as to why... you know?" Louis shrugs, picking slightly at a scab hanging off one of his hands. Weird. When did he get that?

"You know Louis," Zayn starts, almost mocking. "Curiosity can often lead to one's own demise?"

Louis snorts. "Yes, I am aware of 'the curiosity killed the cat' notion, but seeing as you're being cryptic about it, I suppose asking you is not going to lead to much indulgence into partaking new information, no?"

Zayn chews on his lower lip, conflicted, as he cues in the planes of Louis' face before speaking. "Fair point," he assents with a nod. "But I'm withholding the said information, because it might come off as a bit ominous, when really, I'm just being truthful."

Louis nods, soaking in Zayn's words carefully.

"So, his name is Harry Styles, your said flatmate." Zayn begins, sitting in a much more stiffer, more elegant stance. "He's the son of Des Styles, you know, that supposed brutal businessman?"

Louis chews on his lower lip. "No, not really," he swallows. "But I figure you'll tell me anyway."

The corner of Zayn's mouth upturns, but no actual smile is made. "So, he's um, gone up the ranks of the social ladder, and there's shows no stint of stopping anytime soon." He seemed to contemplate his words a little too carefully. "...I wouldn't necessarily say that he had gone from rags to riches, because his father owned Styles Co, but technically, he had quite a bit of money to spend, seeing as he gained a large sum of inheritance from the previous CEO--his father to be exact, or Harry's grandfather, if you hadn't caught on yet." He winks, looking to reassure Louis that it was indeed a joke.

Interesting. "You mean that talent company? The one, where they get the best of the best, and offer them expensive contracts?" Louis questions, tapping his index finger onto the countertop.

"Yeah," Zayn assents. "The company who just rose from the ashes, that Styles Co."

Louis drifts off into reverie about some of the fresh talents he's been witnessing that topped the charts on basically every major magazine he's ever read, remembers almost every face that's been blessed with numerous Brits awards before remembering that Zayn's not quite done with the subject.

"So, what does that have anything to do with Harry, and the inevitable rejection?" Louis pries further, buzzing with energy. He really shouldn't have eaten that chocolate cake that lay perfectly sliced on the fridge without consent. He vaguely remembers a conversation with his mum about sugar contributing to his ADHD (which for a fact is one of many reasons to mask his many, many tasteful, albeit arguable antics), but technically, she's not there to supervise, which meant that he is his own person. He is twenty years old anyway. "Don't tell me father dearest told him not do it?"

Zayn half coughs, half snorts at the remark. "Not too sure about the crummy details, but all I know, is that he's very, um, how would you say..." He trails off, bereft of the right word. "Bussinessy? So.."

Louis wrinkles his nose at the thought. "So, is he, like uptight and shit? Like, he wears business suits all the time? Has some sort of nit-picky attitude?"

Zayn shrugs wryly. "I guess you could say that, um.."

"He's also very meticulous, very witty when given the chance. " A voice adds from the door, right by the fridge.

Zayn's eyes glow in amusement, as he redirects his attention to the man at the door.

"Always want to steal the spotlight, eh, Li?" He teases, winking at Liam (?), who approaches the two, a bright smile glazing his lips.

"Oh don't be ridiculous Zee, pretty sure that's Haz or Ni's job, so I'm good." Liam giggles, sticking his hand out to Louis, with perfectly manicured nails, and an air of welcome that has engulfed the lad's entirety. Liam wore a tweed, woodsy business suit jacket, and perfectly polished oxfords that gleamed from beneath Louis' vision. He has a short, streaked back, milk chocolate quiff, and chocolate puddle eyes. "And you're Louis Tomlinson, I presume?" He half-smiles, eyeing Louis with a bright glint that surpasses the sun.

"And you're the golden retriever that Zayn's been parroting about." Louis smirks, shaking the lads proffered hand. "Louis Tomlinson." He affirms with a nod. "And you must be Liam Payne, the desolate islander?"

Liam raises a brow at his boyfriend. Zayn shrugs, smirking towards Louis. If Liam was the least bit offended, he didn't show it.

"So why were you guys interested in talking about Harry?" Liam asks, seating himself in the stool right by Zayn. "Anything we can gobble up?"

And that was a joke, by the way Liam's eyes glinted at the thought.

Zayn smiles fondly, rubbing Liam's elbows that sat closest to him. "Nothing much, Li." He states. "Lou's just curious as to why Harry'd want to change flat arrangements, prior any meeting with the guy."

Liam looked somewhat apologetic, chewing his lower lip in the process. "He's always sort of been like that," he starts, mindlessly entwining fingers with Zayn, and massaging each of his fingers almost reverently. "Not that he's a 'bad guy' or anything like that... But, I don't know, he's sort of the reserved type?"

Louis frowns, but waves his hands in a notion, urging for Liam to continue, and 'go on'.

"Like, he hardly ever had anybody--No, that doesn't sound right." He shakes his head slightly, to try to amend his scattered thoughts. "He's always the maestro of the party, but he sort of keeps it himself, and hang-about people that can hold conversations with him. I've heard quite a few things echoing from closed doors, and he supposedly takes a bit of the snippy character from his father, when it comes to rising up ranks, yeah? I'm not really too close to him to know whether that statement would be justified or proven to be true, but I think that it's almost always taken the wrong way--but then again, those might just be rumors. From my perspective--as his flatmate--his decisions are usually acted on through hours on hours of hypothesizing and graphing results on spreadsheets. Or at least from what I've seen so far." Then. "And to think that I should at least try to make the effort to acquaint myself with him, seeing as we bunk in the same flat, hopeless flatmate I am." He adds with a sigh, melting onto Zayn, who wrapped a comforting arm around his lithe waist, whispering sweet little nothings onto his ear.

Louis twiddles with his thumb, processing the information quietly. "So, the reason that he could've done any of that, was that... I can't contribute with anything?" The assumption felt heavy in his mouth, even as he spoke of it. He's starting to think that the decision of making Zayn his flatmate might be his saving grace.

Liam looked carefully at Louis, before shrugging airily, like he couldn't feel the tension that raked at Louis' back. "For a lack of a better word, yes, I suppose." Liam agrees, throwing Louis a curt nod.

Zayn must sense the pang, because he smooths over a hand onto Liam's arm. "So, why did he exactly do it? I'm sure he must've given you a viable reason than what he'd try to explain to me?"

Liam leans into the feeling, as he smiles jovially at Zayn, then to Louis. "Well yeah," he states. "Says that there are two Tomlinson companies that currently exists, and they're currently connected to Louis."

Louis gasps at that. "What do you mean by that? Two Tomlinson companies? _How_?"

Liam shrugs, snuggling closer to Zayn, the smile not once wavering. "There just is. Not sure on the details, because he himself is clueless as to how that could've happened, which is pretty rare, when it came to Harry's resources. But anyways," he cards his hands in his hair, staring at the chandelier above them. "He said something about how his assets either could teeter to their downfall or something if not handled properly, because there wasn't much information about one of those companies, just that there are questionable rumors about them."

"So," Louis sighs, feeling a tiny bit relieved. "He's not judging his decision by my character, by rather what my father has, hence the change?"

Liam bobbles his head aggressively that it threatened to rip away from his sun kissed neck. "Exactly!" He states. "That is what I was told, and you basically surmised it succinctly." Louis wasn't too sure of this Liam character yet to point out whether that was a sarcastic remark or not.

But before Louis could speak another word, his phone buzzes that indicated a new text.

_**Niall Horan (1): 'Mate, you up for another meal?**_ '

Louis ignores it though, as many questions ran adrift. Plus, he's considering on vouchering the offer for another time. "So, what exactly is it that your father do Liam?"

"Oh," Liam chirps cordially, like he's anticipated the question, and has rehearsed the answer a few dozen times for an interview. "My father owns his own advertising company, Payne Enterprises, his father and my dad are business partners, which is probably why he had chosen me specifically to bunk with him."

"And Zayn didn't have a say in this?" Louis quips, raising a brow.

"Well, I did, and I understand his situation, so how could I refuse?" Zayn shrugs, nonchalant. "Not only that, but I can visit Liam whenever I could. Plus, Styles Co.'s probably a distant cousin to us, seeing as they are currently one of our massive business sponsors."

"For, what exactly? If you don't mind me asking."

"Food distribution, like we don't do catering, but we provide high quality ingredients from our farm grown resources."

"Okay." Louis drawls, unsure of what to say next, but Zayn continues on, as if he hadn't spoken.

"If you're wondering who does catering, then you'd probably want to discuss something with Styles, seeing as he's got a knack for those kind of things."

He didn't technically think of a question like that, but at least they're not setting up barriers--not right now a least. "So, he's got, like some expertise at his disposal or something?"

Liam chuckles lightly, as he plucks a wine bottle from the cooler in the bottom section of the fridge, and popping it open, with a hearty thud. "Actually, he's the said disposable talent to be exact," Liam corrects with a nod, grabbing pre-prepared, half-filled wine glasses into view, and a plateful of truffles.

"So, he caters to people? Like, is he sort of cook or something?"

"Yep," Liam agrees, popping the 'p'. "He owns a restaurant around town." Then. "I'm surprised that you haven't seen it yet though." He says. "S'pretty packed almost every other week--when he decides to open it--morning till night. Pretty hard to get invitations though." He adds.

"Lemme guess, you'd have to get some pretentious title, or months in reservation to get in." Louis chides with a sneer.

Void of some sort of idea to take in Louis' sarcasm, Liam speaks just as eagerly, as a teacher's pet would've done. "Well yeah," he states. "But if you're invited by some of his dad's valued retainers, like for example, myself, or Zayn, through his best mate Niall Horan, or by Harry himself--but that's a prestigious invitation, which enlists you as an important client to Styles, and hence giving more glitter splayed on your name."

Louis almost chokes at a grape that's been draped on porcelain China's during the whole conversation by finely dressed maids, that merely served snack after snack till the table itself is brimming in endless delicacies. "Excuse me, did you say Niall Horan?" Because didn't he just hear from the lad just mere moments ago?

"Yeah," Liam nods. "You know him?"

Louis chews on his lower lip. "I guess you could say that." Louis affirms. "But I didn't choose to specifically acknowledge his existence though."

Zayn snorts, finding amusement in Louis' wretched expression. "Why? Did he hit on you or something?"

"He does have that sort of affect, doesn't he?" Liam agrees with a nod, seating himself back into the seat by Zayn.

"No," Louis deadpans. "That's what I had assumed what that was, but apparently not."

"Then what happened exactly?" Zayn addressed, sipping at his wine, a smile coated amusedly on his lips.

"Well first of all, he's an obnoxious fucker, like the other day, I was hungry, so I came to the supermarket and--"

"Couldn't you just have asked one of the maids--"

"I couldn't, because I wasn't aware of invisible nymphs bustling on about the flat, so I wouldn't--"

"Then why couldn't have you gotten me? I could've--"

"No." Louis shakes his head. "I couldn't fucking find you anywhere within the radius of this flat, plus I didn't have your number."

Zayn barks a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "So that's why you asked for that first thing this morning!"

"Yeah." Louis rolls his eyes. "Anyways, I was hungry, it was raining, and had nobody with me, so supermarket." He points out. "That's where I chose to go, seeing as it was raining and all."

"Then why didn't you bring an umbrella--"

"I had a hood on, so, I didn't completely get drenched."

"You resembled a dripping wet rat, from what I was told." Zayn adds, crossing his arms firmly.

"And where did you get that information Malik? The--"

"Just get on with the story, yeah?" Zayn interrupts, wanting to hear more of the incriminating details.

So he did continue on, pointlessly exaggerating some things to cough a laugh from Liam and occasionally Zayn, who seemed to be a little more relaxed around Louis, prattling on some inane jokes on the spot, or a rare detail about an irrelevant event that he got hoodwinked into when he was in his younger years. And Louis can see it through the bright glint in his eyes, and the way his smile is a little more serene, his brows rising to the top of his hairline like a fluttering motion, as he converses, and sometimes poke fun with Louis. It's just overall brimming smiles and sparkly wines.

Of course, there's Liam, the sane, economical one, who chose to prattle on all about his father's company, and how he has three older sisters during his upbringing, and how they'd dress him up in thick layers of lipsticks, and make him wear some of their mother's heels that wasn't too far out of reach. When Louis questioned as to why he'd allowed them to do so, he'd just merely shaken his head, reassuring Louis that he did, actually have fun. Apart from realizing his affinity to the same gender, it helped him see women in a better perspective, and treat them like precious gems that's procured through some gritty mine, with brittle fingers and bruised knuckles.

And in turn, Louis had begrudgingly informed the two of the six little sisters that he's grown up with as a child, told them how he's never alone, and that he'd decide to visit his best mate, Stan, about three to four times a week, at moments, when he felt suffocated, or hurling at a downwards spiral. But, although he'd teeter at the end of desperation, it was always his sisters who wrapped their tiny little hands soothingly at his back when he got a bad grade, and it was always their pointed teeth smiles that's always been enough to get him through a particularly bad day. So, even though they were a tiny bit annoying, and always discover unique, colourful ways to wake him up in the morning, he realizes that he wouldn't trade anything for those (scruffy groans, and drawn-over mustaches that took him three days to wipe off with moist towelettes) times, that they're one of the main reasons as to why he didn't appreciate them as they should have properly deserved, and that he hates that he had only realized that now.

Liam had questioned as to what have happened to his sisters, and he replies to them--along with a persuasively short scratch to the back of his neck, that they are in-fact, well, and live to this day, to flood Louis' Facebook inbox with inane, irrelevant messages that scattered from picking gum out of someone's hair, or having frizzy hair in the morning, to fancying a lad their age, and wanting to be kissed on the lips (but of course, Louis wouldn't want to admit that he had done just as enough with sending them messages, chastising them that they should not even begin to make advances to the other gender, let alone be kissing them, till they're at least 32).

Zayn had smirked at the brim of his drink, as if he could read every single thought that's been passing by Louis' head, and taking a sip when he caught Louis staring at him for a second longer.

"So what are your plans for the first day tomorrow?"

Louis snapped out of his inner monologue, and stared at Liam like he grew another head.

"Uh, to go to school, of course?" And it shouldn't sound like a question, but that's really all he had planned for the day--other than what he guesses was the inevitable brooding of summer's end--while he's buried heads down in homework.

Liam furrows his brow, like he couldn't figure out what the boy was trying to say, so he shifts his attention away from Louis, to blink innocently at Zayn.

Zayn sighs, chuckling slightly as he shakes his head. "He means, that other than ditching class, what will you be doing? Any meet ups or anything you've heard in the passing?"

Louis blinks, because what did this boy just say? "Excuse me? Did you just insinuate that I'll be ditching class?"

Zayn does his thorough scan of Louis' face, before smirking, and elbowing Liam, whose eyes visibly preened in astonishment.

Wow? Was it that surprising that he'd actually do work?

As if he could read his thoughts (again), Zayn shakes his head, throwing his head back for a laugh, the sound of chimes and sweet sounding melodies meshing in balanced harmony that came in the form of Zayn's laugh under the tinkling lights, before he spoke. "Don't mind us Lou," he assures him without a hint of sneer. "we just don't see much of people like you, s'nice."

"Oh?" Louis hums, settling his chin on the heel of his palm. "And do you mean by that, Mr. Malik?"

"You actually do work."

\- - -

Louis is undoubtedly not prepared for this.

His alarm had set off exactly at the same time he had set-up the night before, but his mind's already going a mile a minute prior, which meant that he'd roused from his sleep an hour before his supposed alarm.

Louis hated first days. Hated it like the plague, even hated it than his Geography teacher who told him that he wouldn't amount to anything. It's the day to introduce yourself to new people, to share interest with others, and pretend to be interested in some of theirs. It's also the day of first impressions, and first glances, which wouldn't be too much of a bother to Louis, but it is an elite university they're speaking of here: Where the best of the best, or the most prestigious had nested, but also the most pretentious and the most sumptuous people on the planet have lurked.

Louis hadn't been to open to the idea from the start, but his father had insisted that he'd come to this university with the promise of better opportunities, and a step towards success than most, he couldn't turn down the offer, even if he hadn't felt the least bit daunted with the slick black credit card that his father had presented to him in a pressed white envelope, along with his schedule, and other transferal documents he might probably need to hand in.

So what if he wasn't born of money? It doesn't really defeat the purpose of his main goal of attending this school: to get a proper job, like his mom--although she wasn't aware of his whereabouts in the first place--would've wanted for him in any shape or form. Not that he wouldn't have wanted to succeed either, seeing as this is his final step until adulthood, but goddamnit, growing up is tough pill to swallow.

"Louis."

And he just realizes that his tea cup is closed to spilling, there was Zayn again, but this time, he wore velvet slacks and a pristine grey suit (much like the uniform that hang like a trophy inside his closet). His hair is streaked back (A bloody stud he is), and his shoes are a pristine black, brandished from the finest suede leather and polished down right to the heel that he swore he could see his own reflection in them.

While Louis only wore a plain white shirt and his Spider-Man boxer shorts that his sisters had gotten him last year. His hair is an art project gone wrong, but he aspired to look decent--well, as decent as waking up a quarter to six will do to a person.

"Sup man," he greets, taking a scalding hot sip of his cuppa, before returning his attention to Zayn. "You ready?" For school, he begrudgingly wanted to add.

Zayn smirks, crossing his arms, as he leans his back towards the threshold of the door. "Yeah, and I reckon you are too." He jokingly greets, sliding over towards the table, where two steaming plates of scrambled eggs and bacon now lay.

Louis frowns, scratching at the back of his head. "Well, I was planning to, but my eyes wouldn't let me."

Zayn hums in understanding. "Didn't wake up till twenty minutes ago actually," he murmurs, taking a bite out of a toast. "Slept fairly well."

"Of course," Louis yawns slightly, scrubbing at his eye sockets to try and rid himself of the fatigue that plastered to the droop in his eyelids, and follow suit, seating himself across Zayn, to the untouched plate. "With three shots of extremely watered down scotch, I'd figured you'd be out like the log."

Zayn shrugs at that. "What can I say?" He asks, slicing onto the yolk of his sunny-side up egg with sparkling silver wear, watching it, as the dams break and bright yellow trails oozes onto the untouched bacon, munching on tiny bits of it lazily. "I for one am not under the list of people to get particularly pissed, then wake up with a pounding hangover."

"Yeah," he snorts. "You're telling me that now, but last night, Liam had to dispose of the excessive bottle you planned to drink."

Zayn ignores him though, prompting him to get changed soon, seeing as classes start at eight am, cocktail hour. It's seven fifty-nine.

And Louis breaks out in cold sweat, wondering as to why Zayn had not warn him any sooner. He is so fucking screwed, and his first day hadn't even started yet.

He bumbles into his room, yanking away his shirt in one swift move and throwing himself into the walk-in closet without a second thought.

He rushes down in a pair of polished oxfords (that his father had supplied--air mailed more like--him during his meandering time with Niall Horan), just as Zayn was just finishing up on breakfast. His eyes drifted towards the golden-rimmed clock on the kitchen wall, conveniently by the stove.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to get ready?" He almost screeches. "It's already eight-ten, and yet you're still finishing up on breakfast?!"

Zayn sips on a cup of coffee, as his eyelash flutter like a delicate butterfly at Louis. "Didn't I say cocktail hour?" He sniffs. "That means that it's an hour after the designated time."

And Louis is literally floored by that. "What?" He rasps, his knuckles shaking a little at his sides. "Did you just tell me that I have--" he stares at the clock again. "--forty minutes to get to school?!"

Zayn pauses, taking another trained, well-mannered sip.

Louis groans, throwing himself onto the stool, and shoving a piece of bacon of what looked to be a blunt, makeshift knife that's curled up on one side, and thrusting the thigh fattening piece onto Zayn's face, poking it slightly onto the boy's jaw, but briefly wondered whether the bloke's jaw can cut through glass.

Is this boy even real? Is this reality? Because Louis' not the least bit repulsed by this one, nevermind his wealth, but Zayn's pretty chilled, much like a soft served ice cream melting under the morning sun.

Zayn casts his eyes onto the bacon, smirking as he yanks at the piece of meat with his teeth with a wink.

"Well, now that you think about it," Zayn speaks in-between chews. "Now you've got plenty of time to get to class now, right? So it's not technically wasteful. The early bird catches the worm 'n all that."

Louis shrugs, stuffing a scone to his mouth, just as stacks of plates, along with different breakfast dishes begin appearing, almost by magic, and all he's ever caught site of, is corners of maid uniforms to confirm that, yes, he is not turning into some type of lunatic that believes in fairy tale nymphs and make-believe faeries that's bent on ruining his psyche. But then again, the fact that he has sisters should be considered detailed explanation as it is.

"So how will you be getting there, then?" And he didn't even spoke in a voice that's billowing with cash, nor did he aspire a pretentious tone. He just sounded curious, and there's an undertone of concern if that was possible (though there is a possibility that he might be overthinking on that part).

Louis wrinkles his nose as he takes a drink of his warm tea, and shrugging once more. "My father told me that there'll be transportation available outside, so I guess I'll somehow manage?"

Zayn waves a nonchalant hand, taking a drag, and lighting it in seconds. "Okay, that's fine." He affirms with a long take in of smoke. "Was just wondering whether you had some sort of escort, and whether you'd like to accompany me, or something." A shrug. "S'not a big deal."

"No it's, um, thank you for the offer?" Louis starts idly playing with his fingertips. "I mean I'd go, but, my father insisted that I use it, so.." And he trails off.

"Hey," Zayn's lips curl into a smile, as he reaches over, to wrap a hand on one of Louis' shoulders comfortingly. "It's just a friendly gesture, yeah?" He asks, meeting Louis' gaze. "Plus, it could just be me luring you in, so that Liam'll be forced to be flatmate when they couldn't find your body."

And it's like a spell just broke off, and Louis pulls himself away with a withering glare, flipping the boy off. "Ha, Ha." He chides, albeit reluctantly. "Very funny."

Zayn smirks, winking.

"You love it." 

\- -

At his arrival, a limo successfully swerves punctually by the front door, and Louis sees yet another unnamed man in a suit opening up the door for him to enter through, which is why he's already passing by a spruce of trees faster than he can blink.

The sky is shining into a pretty baby blue, with hints of silver and purple to frame the lone clouds adrift, and the sun is set to a mellow lemony colour that's not too bright, nor is it too dim to perhaps take a picture of.

There is silence that drifts, when he wasn't overly assaulting Zayn with text messages, and Liam with quirky answers to the very random, very untimely questions that only Liam Payne's could ever articulate (because yes, he came along with Zayn as a complete package, so it wasn't a complete surprise that he also has Liam's cell number recorded in his phone as well) in the span of a typical Tuesday morning.

It was frankly the same time, where he stares idly onto the black tinted windows to see something--or rather someone on a navy blue motorcycle. Now normally, he wouldn't have payed much attention (because he wasn't born yesterday, he has seen tons of motorcycles before: more so than most) to just anybody, but from the looks of it--apart from the capacity Louis can take his eyes over--this boy--man--boy, man-boy?

Well, he wore a well tailored (expensive) black (did he mention very expensive?) Armani suit that hug along his whole figure. Louis couldn't see much, seeing as the bloke had worn a helmet--but not just any helmet, a black biker's helmet with flowers of different variations and strewn up vines painted onto them..?

But the scene is as gone as appeared, and just on time too, seeing as he had just received another text from Zayn regarding as to where they should meet up after class, and Louis smiles typing out a cheeky innuendo, before clicking his phone to a close.

_Well, here's to the first day_ , he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably should tagging this on tumblr or something... Nonetheless.. To whoever is reading, you're beautiful! :) .xx


	6. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Harry Styles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of italicization, but I'm on my iphone, and I'll try to get back to this soon enough, when my head is a little clearer, and my schedule is free. Once again, thank you so much to all who read this! :))

• • •

 

"Zayn, you wouldn't believe what happened to me this morning." Louis moaned, wiping a nonexistent hand to his forehead and dropping his shoulder bag onto the plush, velvet seat by the living room. 

It was about a quarter past two, and the sky is a light teal colour, with a lack of an overcast. The sun looked a bit too bright for Louis' liking, and there's a flock of birds skittering about like ants with sugar water.

Zayn hums, just as Louis finds him in another room, playing 'Call of Duty 4' in the flat inch screen that looked to be some kind of shiny beacon for Louis to take a seat, and start up controller that's placed conveniently right beside Zayn's thigh.

"I mean, I was early, right? For about, like, 20 minutes before the bell." He doesn't get a response, but he continues on anyway, multi-tasking as he sets up his player's emblem and weapons. "But what was weird, was when I got to my class, about, like 15 minutes late--don't ask--the professor looked absolutely mortified when I entered through the door."

"Have you ever considered if the professor's just afraid of people in general?" Zayn supplies, rapidly pressing on the buttons of his controller, regarding Louis with slight indifference, but crowded with other emotions, such as interest and a bit of playfulness as well.

"That's what I thought at first though," Louis says cooly, carding a hand on his hair that did not hold the controller. "But, like, he didn't even flinch when these guys on business suits attend class, with laptops and walkey-talkeys, almost as if he didn't even expect me to attend at all."

Zayn chuckles, knifing down a soldier in a controlled manner, chewing quietly on his lower lip in anticipation, hurrying over the port for his next kill. "Didn't I tell you that a lot of people would ditch class?"

"No, a good decent amount attended, actually." Louis amends, pursing his lips as he recharges his weapon. "Just that, I don't know," he shrugs. "They look at me, as if I grew another head or something."

"Or another phallus." Zayn quips with a laugh, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Could be a possibility."

Louis rolls his eyes. "And how exactly are they going to notice that I've miraculously grown another one, oh great-master-of-knowledge?"

"Could be mistaken for a fourth leg, you know?" He says, winking to Louis fast enough that he thought he might've, maybe imagined it.

"Fourth? How would you even know my size? You are yet to see me in starkers." Louis giggles childishly, batting his eyelashes close to Zayn's perfectly sculpted cheekbones. "Oh Zayn," he says wistfully. "I knew it was fate that brought us together."

"Oh fuck off." Zayn evades, affronted--not at all denying it--pushing Louis with his shoulder, so that he'd drop his controller. To which Louis retaliates by toeing at the lad's ribs, and jabbing at it till Zayn somehow chucks his own device atop where Louis' sat, and both of them are wrestling to get at their own respective controllers.

"Quit it Louis!" He chortles, clawing at the rug beneath them, so that he could take a snatch his and Louis' controller, which was flung about a meter away from the television. "We were just about to win!"

But Louis was faster, as he yanks at Zayn's leg, sending the lad to a full-on body flop on the lush carpet, hopping over the lad's lithe body and giggling like a fucking school girl that he is (because he could, and that his calloused bum could no doubt warrant for it), ambling his character to where Zayn's idle player stood, and taking shots at him till he was teleported to yet another location.

Zayn let's out a menacing growl, leaping to where Louis was planted, and tackling his body underneath him. Louis squirms, squawking about how he hated to be manhandled, and making to grab at Zayn's shoulders, so that they could switch positions and Louis ended up straddling Zayn with ragged breaths, flushed cheeks, and birds nests for hair.

"You give up yet, Malik?" Louis questions, quirking a challenging brow, and waving both controllers airily just a smudge away from the slope of Zayn's nose.

Zayn smirks. "Oh, I wouldn't say that." He says, gaze shimmering with mirth from underneath the thick clusters of lashes (god, Louis still can't believe them to be real), like he's already two steps ahead of Louis.

"Oh?" Louis muses. "And how do you plan to escape then?"

And Louis is then hoisted up from his waist with a loud shriek, just as a familiar chortle surpasses his eardrums. He is quietly set down to a standing position and watching Zayn get helped up by Liam, exchanging flirty winks, before brushing off the debauched look, and expertly re-arranging his hair back into this original Aladdin hairstyle he so carefully constructed (cue the sarcasm), while Louis grumbles, as he gives up with holding his quiff back in place, and just settling with a messy fringe instead.

Why is he single again?

"Sorry Lou," Liam sweetly rectifies (though it sounded nowhere near contrite), wrapping an arm around Zayn's waist like the dark-haired lad had done prior, openly smirking at Louis' demise, like some Disney villain who's about to reveal her nefarious scheme to an empty room, or a lack thereof in Louis' situation. 

"You guys were in a rather compromising position," he explains airily. "Should I be jealous?" And though it was said with nonchalance, there definitely is something there, something that Louis' sure can lead to his demise, so he shrugs.

"Depends on how you depict it, mate." He confesses. "But if you had been earlier, you'd have witnessed my ninja-like skills from earlier, and how I can surpass humanity with my cunning, coordinated Jacky Chan moves."

Liam's eyes brighten at that, as he openly laughs. "Oh. I would've loved to see that, mate! That would be so sick!" He adds, nosing onto Zayn's neck. "Did you know he does his own stunts as well?"

"If by stunts, you mean relentless flailing, then yes, Louis did wonderfully at the art." Zayn winks, beaming as he does so.

"Yeah, and losing to me to Call of Duty any better than that?" Louis challenges, tapping one of his feet as some sort of indication that he's carefully waiting on Zayn's way to respond, so he doesn't say anything more.

"You literally toed my ribs!" Zayn defends, pouting as he pats at his sides. "Plus you took advantage of my fall to shoot my player, so that shouldn't even be considered a 'win', of which you speak."

"Excuse me!" Shrieks Louis. "But I do seem to recall the shoving of /your/ shoulder onto mine, just when I was about to get myself a kill, remember?"

"Boys, boys." Liam shakes his head fondly, staring at both him and Zayn like they're made of glitter. "Just have a rematch, yeah? I'm sure that things can be hopefully be resolved by then?" He asks, hopeful and almost pleading.

The two grumble out their assents, before throwing themselves back onto the couch on a separate side each, with Liam watching reverently, and attentively situated on the middle of the battlefield. 

If you focus hard enough, you might probably be able to hear his tail thumping excitedly, like an amused puppy with a new chew toy (he's definitely joking of course, but it made sense once you witnessed it).

\- -

"Fuck, I'm done with this." Groans Zayn, carding a frustrated hand through his hair, throwing his controller onto the floor with a soft clunk. 

"You're just saying that because you refused to admit that you can't win against me in this game." Louis laughs, scratching idly at his belly button. 

"Easy lads." Liam soothes, smoothing a hand on Zayn's shoulder, as he regards the both of them with a quiet smile. "How long are you guys going to keep doing this to yourselves?"

So, after deciding to carry out on their little rematch, and having relentless words to try to psyche the other bloke to losing--which moments later had lead to both of them to spew profanities, and angrily cursing what ever deity had forced this upon them, when they had noticed that the result of each game had kept alternating on whoever's team had won. Liam--being the sweet, blessed peace keeper by nature slash eager pup he is--had then thoughtfully recommended to play another game: namely FIFA, which lead to Zayn's eyes to emerge from a trench of open flames that ignited his irises, and engross themselves to Louis' icy blue ones, that he--for sure--deflected back with just as much vigor, before starting. Game. On.

But little did Zayn know that FIFA had been Louis' birthright, even before some of the fancy technologies in these modern times had released--in a form of overpriced funds--so he wasn't at all surprised to see his team--Man U--to come out victorious after each game.

"Not my fault that you just happen to be inept with coordinating a controller." Louis burps after taking a particularly large sip from the root beer he's been nursing for the past two minutes. "But don't take it the wrong way, you're amongst of many."

Zayn blanks for a minute, before laughing. "It's strange how I'm not completely against the idea of that." Then he sets alight to a cigarette, reassembling bits of his 'calm-and-collected' look, and tapping it on a small silver platter by his side. "'ve gotta admit, you've got game, Tomlinson. I respect that." And he says those words purely and genuinely, like there wasn't even an ounce of doubt or conviction. 

Louis radiates by the praise.

"Aw, shucks." Louis flushes slightly, hiding it with a swipe to his nose. "I don't suppose you've got more of them compliments in your pockets, I reckon?"

"You wish." Zayn rolls his eyes (but fondly, something that Louis' been questioning, regarding Zayn's set-fixed aloof gaze when he's first met him), his lips quirked on the corners, just as Liam helplessly giggles on spot on Zayn's neck that he's currently nosing on.

And yeah, Louis reckons that he could get used to having the two star-crossed lovers around the flat more often (that is if they'd decided to stay, and not just sneak around the flat like earlier times).

\- -

It was about a week in the term, when Louis had finally suggested they go eat out (not technically the first time he had asked, as opposed to being catered by fondue or filet mignon, or some type of hand-related activity, while the three of them played pool, or Liam tried to get him to play polo in a few separate occasions), like normal college kids who actually had decent income (definitely an understatement) to eat somewhere different. Somewhere less inherently generic.

In other words, a high-end hotdog stand.

"But how do you actually eat this with your hands?" Questions Liam, furrowing his brows, as he prods at the piece of meat like it might turn into some radioactive sausage who'd willingly bite someone's finger off. "Like, shouldn't we be provided with some cutlery at least?"

Louis snorts, just as he was shoving the last bite of his own hotdog into his mouth. Is this bloke serious? "Are you fucking serious right now, Payne? Have you not eaten at a hotdog stand before? Were you fed creme brûlée as a child? Possibly a goblet of expensive caviar?"

Liam pouts (but there's really no true emotion there, so it's good), just as Zayn wraps an arm around the lad's shoulders, kissing him softly on the cheeks, and murmuring nonsensical remarks at the lad's ear to elicit a small giggle.

Louis may have possibly gagged inside his mouth, on how tooth-rottingly sweet these two are. It's like watching some cliché rom-com, while eating an innumerable amounts of silky strands of pink cotton candy and nothing else for five hours. It's not very pleasant, and not at all enjoyable to see, but the taste still gets stuck in your back of your throat the next day, and you just can't help but enjoy yet another sugar-high. So it's sort of a cross between disgusting and pawing-at-your-eyes-in-anticipation type of thing.

Louis fidgets with a fussy strand on his forehead, counting down on one's own demise.

"You eat these, just like you would Zayn's cock, mate." A particular voice calls out from behind Louis. "Just easier to swallow s'all."

Wait a second.

Dirty jokes?

A thick nonsensical slur of basic english?

He knew this voice.

Liam visibly flushes, but changes the topic all-too-quickly, capturing Niall in a one-arm hug, and casually fist bumping with Zayn, just as he makes his way beside Louis, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Lou!" And again, why does this guy keep calling him by a nickname?They are not friends, this is not a thing. "Oi Tommo!" He bellows. "Lou-eeeee Tomlensonnnnnn!!!!"

Louis blinks from the inner war inside his brain that told him to run, and ditch his so-called friends who looked all-too amused by the interaction: Zayn smirking too widely that you'd question as to /why/ his face hadn't split in half, and Liam glittering with a beam that showcases his ivory set of teeth, enough to power a New Age.

"Do I know you?" He feigns a yawn in disinterest. "Or rather, have we met before?"

And Niall laughs, like literally like a fucking seal, clapping his hands that can call forth an earthquake. This is not turning out too well.

"Just as gut-bustingly hilarious like the other times!" He appraises. "But I'm sure you won't forget your good 'ole pal Niall, won't you mate?"

Louis almost snorts, but he rolls his eyes instead, hoping that either Zayn or Liam would come to his aid any second. "Nope, sorry man, don't recall meeting a Neil."

And there it was again, the blithe idiot just continues to laugh, squeezing Louis by the side, and looking awfully contented by it, before granting his attention to Zayn (and Liam from the looks of it) as he spoke, Zayn smirking deviously at Louis as he'd always done in the past, when he's about to add fuel to Louis' inner fire (like it isn't even enough that it can burn down a whole city in a span of a second).

"Actually," he starts, gaze still at Louis. "He did talk about you, like a lot."

"Like, how you proper wine-and-dined him and such," Liam chirps in, throwing non-subtle apologetic looks towards Louis, face a pink tint of what's to come (understatement, he's calling that now. Liam's definitely in with Zayn on this 'make-Louis-look-like-a-fool project). "Talked about what a proper gentleman you were, and something about a piece of meat."

Louis face absolutely flushes at that, just as Niall found the situation all too hilarious, placing both hands on his knees, as he gasps for air, like he's deprived of it.

So for a few minutes, the whole group went like that, Louis absolutely fuming, and Niall calling out to the heavens with his laughter, head pointed down. And Liam and Zayn just watching the exchange.

Such good friends, he thinks (note the sarcasm).

*

"Okay, okay, I think I'm done." Niall concludes with a giggle, readjusting himself, so that he was standing properly, facing the three in a way that they could all converse properly.

Louis wants to sniff out an 'okay, good, not get away from me, you Irish fucker', but that didn't happen (as everything had done that happened today. *sigh* It's barely even reaching the time where the sun's just getting a bit too stunningly bright to mull over), because Niall wraps yet another arm around his shoulder--like it's insinuating that he actually liked being held like this--he doesn't--and speaking too loudly beside Louis, that his eardrums is literally clenching to try to get acquainted.

"So what are you lads up to? Other than eating overpriced hotdogs that is." He adds, not even bothering to acknowledge the scoff that the vendor throws his way, mumbling something about 'quality ingredients'.

"Actually, we were just--"

"Hey, have you guys been to Haz's place? Said that he's opening tonight." Niall interrupts, smiling a little too brightly. "I bet he'd like to see us there."

Zayn snorts, carding a careful hand on his hair. "You sure about that Horan?" He questions, not exactly airy, but not really tense either, which was...new?

Niall all but beams, nodding his head excitedly. "Of course! Why wouldn't he?"

Louis didn't even have to turn his head to realize that Zayn's eyes were on him.

As if Niall had caught on, he sighed, shaking his head, as he pulls away from Louis. "He wouldn't have the reason to, Zee." Then they meet eye-to-eye, with Niall giving him a reluctant smile. "Besides, he's one of us anyway, so it shouldn't really be a problem, yeah?"

Louis swallows, not really knowing what he meant by that, but for some reason, his heart was beating out of his chest, and he got this sickening feeling on the pit of his stomach, almost like foreshadowing something dark, and uncharted.

"Maybe I shouldn't--"

"No." Niall shakes his head, crossing his arms sternly. "Harry, he's charming, he's friendly, he's nice and everything you could want in a friend--tells crappy jokes most of the time, but he's loyal, so you wouldn't have to worry or anything." 

"And why are you telling me this, exactly?"

It takes much longer for Niall to respond this time.

"You'll see."

\- -

So they arrived at this mansion-sized bistro that Harry supposedly owned. The boys provided little to no more information about the latter, and frankly, Louis' a bit...intimidated? Overwhelmed? He's not exactly too sure, about whether it'd be a good thing or a bad thing, so Louis decides to label the cluster of emotion to be 'work-in-progress', which Louis guesses he'll get back to soon enough.

Right after the bouncer by the gate sees Niall, then Liam, then Zayn, he immediately bows, as he unhooks the fuzzy red material from the adjacent pole, without so much as a hint of reluctance.

Louis chews on his lower lip, as they approached large wooden doors with gold handles. Should he make a break for it? Should he tell them that he wasn't feeling very well, and that he should get some much needed rest from walking almost the whole day? There are so many options, and yet Louis couldn't follow through. All he remembers, was Zayn, along with Liam approaching, from where they strode right by Niall, and both placing a comforting arm around his shoulder. 

It doesn't do much, probably added another skip to his step, but he's greatful, and that's all that matters, he thinks.

Niall threw him a lip-bitten smile in understanding, as he leads them along long corridors, calloused doors, even bumped shoulders with some socialites that he vaguely saw on the Telly, thrusting their sloshy champagne flutes in the air, like they're having the time of their lives.

Now normally, Louis would've been tempted to ask for their autographs, but he felt as if it was out of place to even attempt to do so (seeing as the majority of them were high off their arses, giggling over spilt wine), so he allows himself to be lead, not once straying from Zayn and Liam's side, just as Niall leads them to an arch opening, adjoining to a much grand ballroom filled with tables, with freshly pressed pallor sheets, sparkling ivory plates and an array of flowers and assortments of perfectly baked bread sticks. The interior is a deep shade of mahogany, along with some vintage, ornate designs in black paint splattered in victorian style, littered in, albeit neat, fragile lines and careful swirls near the ceiling. Each silver wear are encased in gilt, and there appeared to be scented candles at every table, but even that is a no-show when compared to the glitter of the overly ostentatious, heavily bejeweled chandelier that hang dead centre like some kind of coveted grand prize, the sweet croon of Amy Winehouse humming quietly in the background.

There is not a single furniture out of place.

He hadn't noticed that he'd stopped, just about a meter away from where Niall jovially greeted a female server that held a thick book, signifying their arrival. She didn't even flinch when she granted them access.

Zayn squeezed one of his elbows, beaming brightly, and Liam on his other side, beatifically vibrating with what comes across as both supportive and elated all the same, just as Niall acknowledges their absence.

"C'mon mates, table's ready." He announces, waving them in warmly.

Louis sighs, regaining his inner-peace, and beaming as he follows through, vast tables, along with Zayn and Liam walking alongside him, never straying too far, hands tangled against one another, inane pleasantries exchanged quietly between the two.

He took in the endless glances thrown their way, the hushed murmurs of praise, endless questions, and disturbing remarks fluttering about. He listens quietly, gaze never straying far from Niall's tailored trousers flittering about as he moved. 'It's them' 'I didn't know they had a new addition' 'He's just as beautiful though, ain't he?' 'His eyes are so blue' and some just vile and sickeningly grotesque: 'You could just gobble him up' or 'I'd like to see those lips on something else'.

Don't they even have the decency to at least lower their voices? 

Shameless. These people are shameless he surmises.

Liam and Zayn looked to be as affected, as a bag of rocks, all they looked to be doing is to hover around the other's space, breathing comments to the other's ear, like nobody else mattered. It's endearingly sweet, and they are just as devoted to one another 2 years ago, like Zayn had drunkenly confessed one day, when they were pissed drunk at a particular afternoon where Liam had suggested to drink out, said that it was true love, and all that trite, disgusting, overly mushy lovey dove-y bullshit that's passed over to your grand kids someday.

But he's thankful though, because even if they looked to be quite drunk to the other's presence, they appeared to mirror the gesture when they throw subtle, yet comforting glances towards Louis, when he flinches slightly at a certain comment that sounded deranged, and overall throat-clawingly putrid, when he wasn't even too sure as to why they were said in the first place.

Niall's at his side again, slowing down his pace, his smile seemingly plastered on, as he smothers down his hand warmly on Louis shoulder. Not like the one's he gives because they're what he calls 'pals', but he somehow could tell the stiff lines on Louis' shoulder, so he gives small pats, and rubs onto his tailored suit--per Liam's request, as he had leant him a tailored suit from his own collection that he almost always donated to charity for some charity auction his father is holding--his posture at ease, keeping his pace even and tamed as he lead to private quarters, right by the kitchenette, behind strings of glass-like beads that hang on an Arabian style arch.

A blonde male then leads them to a specifically appointed table, passing table after table filled with a blur of faces who appeared to be preoccupied with something mouthing on their trousers than actually enjoying their meal, that looked to be bleak cold and less glamorous from where they stood, then--before he can try to make a sense of it all--they arrived to a table by a large glass window with velvet curtains, and freshly picked flowers inside ornamented ivory, inherently large vases. The scent of jasmine and petunias with a pleasantly light undertone of mint permeates the air--which, is a complete contrast to all the post-coital happening that he had passed by earlier. And, it's just...nice, soothing almost.

There are different servers that materialized out of thin air--either that or Louis' eyes just couldn't take their speed as to how they work--and pulled out the chairs from beneath their table, and soon they were all seated, with Liam and Zayn sitting side-by-side on Louis' right, and Niall to his left. There is an empty seat right across Louis', and he wondered who they were waiting for, or rather, if they'd made an error with the seating. But then, by the looks of it, he guesses it's the latter.

"Louis, what're you planning to order?" Asks Liam, one of his arms tracing random shapes onto Zayn's arm. Zayn on-the-other-hand, looking utterly bored, flicks over every page, and pointing out suggestions to what he felt like eating.

"Hmm.." He hums, blinking at the menu that sat in front of him, eyes flickering at a slur of meal names in some foreign language he couldn't quite place. "I've got to be honest with you mate," he says absentmindedly, reading over-and-over a dish on the menu, quietly hoping that it will take pity on his empty belly, and magically translate to english. "I've got no fucking idea what these all are." And there's not even any pictures whatsoever, just freshly printed calligraphy written in sparkly silver pen.

Niall laughs jovially, clapping a hand on Louis' back, shaking his head. "Mate, I'm sure whatever you order in here will be good. Haz made sure of it, so what have you got to lose?"

And yeah, maybe he's got a point there.

Doesn't make it any easier to choose from the menu, but...

\- -

In no later time, their meal arrives. For appetizer, Liam's ordered Hors d'oeuvres, Zayn brochettes, Niall chose Bouchées, while Louis went along with something that mimicked Vampires and Quileute--which is no doubt a Twilight reference, curse his sisters for watching each movie at least thirty times, and leaving hard copies lying around the house at all times--that had a gold star (though a handful of them did have it also) beside it, so he figured it must be good enough to eat.

"Verrines and Cuillères?" An english waiter--who in fact mastered the French accent quite nicely--breezes through his list, raising a questioning brow at everybody at the table.

"Oh, that would be--"

"I ordered it." A syrupy voice calls out from around the corner.

Everybody at the table--except for Louis--beamed in recognition, eyes immediately following the bloke, as he meanders towards their table, clad in an ebony night suit, with red vertical stripes. He's a beautiful boy. He had dark clusters of bronze hair that hang like soft waves along his pallid neck, and mid-sized ringlets by his ears. His eyes are a piercing green emerald, with tints of blue splashed in forms of pigments scattered along his irises. His mouth is set onto something in-between a cocky smirk, and an amused kitten; It's alluring, yet repelling--a complete neutralizing effect, so he keeps his attention on the table cloth instead.

The server makes no further comments, setting down a pair of separate cups with flat pale, and maroon broth beneath some earthy greens onto the empty spot on the table.

And what? Wasn't that his order? Who gave this bloke free rights to take on Louis' meal?

"Hey, what about the thing me mate ordered?" Niall calls out to the server scoldingly. The guy bobs his head, informing them that it'll take another few minutes to arrive.

And thank god for Niall Horan--bless his soul--switched onto another topic, approaching Harry with a smile that can encompass any types of tightly strung situations, with the glint in his eyes that can threaten to lure.

"Hey mate!" He barks excitedly, leading the curly-headed boy onto the remaining seat. "How've you been?"

A decent smile curls onto the boy's lips, allowing himself to be lead, seating himself quietly, as he shakes hands with Niall appreciatively, like he'd been waiting to be asked that question for what felt like ages.

"Great." He answers with gusto, raking his eyes along the table--total indifference when it passed by Louis'--then stopped right by Zayn and Liam. "Lads! 'M glad to see you at my humble abode. Haven't seen you in a while, yeah?"

"Harry, we just saw you, like a few days ago." Zayn scolds with a chuckle, amused. Oh, so this is /the/ Harry they've been talking about. Moreover, what? Zayn never told him about that. All they stated was they went out that day, and that a Louis can help himself on whatever's on the pantry.

"Two days ago to be exact." Liam affirms with a polite smile, squeezing Zayn's arm that he held, and soothing a hand on Louis' leg firmly. "Right after we went to Horatio's party, remember?"

"Oh, yes, yes, that fellow that wore a lot of red, yes?" Asks Harry, getting a champagne flute filled to very brim by an enraptured waitress, who looked far too interested on the hand that held the glass, than fulfilling services. "Thank you darling, you may go." He purrs, turning his attention back to the table, and once again, doing a once over, leaning towards Niall. "So, who's this darling little thing?" He questions, molten eyes burning towards Louis' for a brief second, then back to the blonde-headed boy.

Niall beams proudly--so much so that he resembled a proud father who scored a winning goal at a football match--settling the hand closest to Louis, atop his shoulders. "Why mate, this is Louis Tomlinson. I'm sure I've mentioned him a few times before." What? Didn't he only see this lad once? Why does he go around spouting his name like a bloody parrot?!

"Yes." The boy answers simply, focusing his attention on Louis, scalding his skin with hot coals. "And how are you, Mr. Tomlinson?" Then. "I've heard a /lot/ of things about you."

"Good things, I hope." Jests Louis, tightening the clench on his fists. The bloke clearly didn't even looked pleased to see Louis, the thinly-veiled disinterest evident when he spoke. It's like staring at the fiery pits of despair when given direct eye-contact. 

"Nothing but the best." Quips Niall.

"Always." Chimes Zayn, relaxed.

"Team Tommo!" Liam adds with a giggle, asking politely for another refill of his drink, waving his empty flask in the air.

Harry's eyes flashes livid, but then, was beaten into indifference within a nanosecond. 

Which seemed..strange.. Or, maybe he's just seeing things.

\- -

And the meal ensued seamlessly. Well, seamlessly /enough/.

Louis' meal arrived about a quarter of minute later, along with profuse apologies, and hurried glances exchanged before the server scurries off back to where he popped in from, flittering about in an anxious, but elegant stroll.

He sends a look to curly haired lad, who was in the middle laughing at something Niall had said, purring out syrupy responses that tasted like caramel. He also interacted with Liam and Zayn, and Niall, but his gaze just seem to hop away from Louis, even before he can feel the caress of the bloke's cold gaze even acknowledge him even for a second. Which was fine, but he's definitely not having it.

"So the fucker just spat at Johnson's face--the fucking idiot--and he didn't even expect a punch to come at his jaw. Should've seen his face." Niall wipes a tear at his eyes, shifting his attention to Louis, a horrible glint marring the corners of his eyes. "What do you think about that Lou?"

All attention shifted to him (apart from Harry's for-some-reason--not that he wanted it in the first place), Zayn smirking, like he's already sizing himself up for another round of a comedy sketch, with Liam huddled to his side like a perfect trophy husband.

"Sorry?" Louis tilts his head up, from where he was finishing off his dish, a confused brow lifting to his hairline. "I blanked out when you started speaking."

And Niall definitely barks out a laugh at that, clutching desperately at his stomach, doubling over, free hand punched at the table to send waves of rattling towards the silver wear and empty dishes.

Zayn smirks.

Liam chuckles, eyes shining like he has never heard anything remotely close to funny before Louis.

Harry just unnervingly blinks, fiddling with a spoon at hand, looking utterly bored out of his mind, the other curling at a small chunk of hair. What's his problem anyway? Louis' been anything but charming this whole time... He's barely even known the lad 5 minutes, and he's already despising ever having to meet him. Why did they follow after Niall anyway?!

"Forget that," Barks Niall jovially, telling the waiter an array of meals, without even consulting either of them, attention never straying far from Louis. "So, why didn't you return my text?"

Harry's gaze widens a fraction, looking almost a little too intently onto Niall, like he was the one being interrogated.

And what? Where did that come from? "Horan, first of all, you forcibly took down my cell number with your greasy Irish paws without my consent, then you expect me to go to some shady part of town to eat a meal with you?" He scoffs, crossing his arms. "No, thank you." A lie of course... He just thought he could vouch the damn thing whenever he wanted.

"Oh come on, Tommo!" Niall cries, forcibly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Don't tell me you didn't have a fun time, when Jean joked about throwing us out."

Louis snorts, taking a sip of his wine with an airy shrug. "Yeah," he stretches, muttering under his breath. "Joked. That's what being threatened to leave felt like."

Zayn and Liam chuckle quietly (or rather they're probably too caught up on simply hearing of another scene to their favourite television show--meaning Louis), sharing bites on each of their meal.

"Come off it, Tommo." Niall dictates scoldingly. "If he had the power to throw us out, he'd have beefy escorts already waiting for us, don't you think?"

"Thought you got banned at the place, Ni?" And the voice just came out of nowhere, that Louis couldn't help to look. Was this curly haired bastard paying attention to their conversation the /whole/ time?! "I mean, after getting caught at least fifteen times a month, you would've learned to be a bit more..." He laughs lowly, not breaking his gaze where it caressed Niall's face. "Discreet, with your...businesses." And he says that, briefly eyeing Louis like a piece of grape that's been waiting to be stomped on.

So, of course that's when all hell broke lose, and Louis inner flame is doused with dynamites, firewood, and possibly a lifetime's supply of gas.

He scoffs, pouring a copious amount of wine onto his flute, before continuing. "Oh, I'm sure." He nods, fiddling with the stem of the glass. If this bloke seriously thinks he can fuck with him, then he's seriously behind in 'Louis' Soliloquy 101'. "And what about you, then? How had your time with Niall been?" He asks, downing down about half of his drink. His face immediately flushes at the action. He makes brief eye contact with Zayn, who looked almost..proud, just bordering on amused. A development, he thinks.

When Harry's gaze burned through his, and the lad's eyes ablaze in molten forest fire, he wills it away with a blink, even before Louis can fully acknowledge it.

"Well, I'm sure it would've been a gratifying time regardless, won't it, Niall?" He asks, shifting his attention back to Niall, who looked thoroughly amused. He swallowed the compliment like it was just another glass of whiskey.

"Oh, hush, Styles." He barks out a laugh, clapping the man-boy on the back. "You wish you had all of this." Gesturing dead-center to where his appointed, and annoyingly emphasized 'this' should be.

Zayn snorts, raising a curious brow. "This?" He inquires, trailing off, but leaving the conversation off at that. It didn't take rocket science to get the full gist of what he'd meant. 

While Liam muffles a giggle with his calloused hands, careful not to evoke too much noise. "Oh, Niall." He whispers fondly, fuck, even reverently. Of course, it wasn't compared to how he was with Louis. Good boy, Liam.

Louis smirks, pouring another hefty amount from a vintage bottle he was handed by one of the waiters (because he could, and why not? He's sure that it'll all be payed for somehow), throwing his head back a little, to finish yet another round of wine, subtly averting his attention from Zayn's quietly probing gaze. "What exactly did you mean by, 'this'?" Louis shakes his head in a mock scolding manner. "I never took you to be the cocky type, Horan." Yep. He's definitely screwing with him, but he's definitely sure the lad posses a great deal of underlying tenacity beneath those breathy chortles and rum-scented breath, tinged with L'eau Serge Lutens, and smelt of fresh linen and expensive bars of soap. "From the brief stint of my company to be adjoined with yours, I'd have thought of you as a man of modesty."

Niall brandishes a bottle of liquor, taking a pinched sip, before shaking his head, a pink-pressed smile on his lips. "I am," he mock rectifies. "But, you've gotta admit--coming from all this--we're pretty much invincible." He grins brightly, shoving yet another bread stick down the chasms of his mouth.

But before he could get another word out, to possibly counter that he literally had his whole life handed to him by some opulent heritage, redundant and unnervingly obtuse raises from his seat, the legs of his chair scratching noisily over the cherrywood granite. 

"Such festivities today." He idly states, messing around with his hair that identically mirrored the style he had on before, a delicate curve set on his mouth, but eyes frostily empty, a shade glacier than what he had noticed earlier. "'M afraid I must retire. I'm sure we can do this again... At a more," and right then and there, he smirks venomously. Staring right at Louis. "Pleasant lighting, yes? Preferably something with better dynamics and polite scholars."

Louis' palm felt raw, and drained, as he squeezes his fist from underneath the table, his knuckles shaking in anger. It's like his bloke is just urging to be punched. Not only did he just implicitly called Louis boring, and dull, but he also decided to throw in more knives, calling him out on better speech deliveries? Who the hell did this guy think he is?!

It seemed that the whole table had sensed the shift in ambience when Niall had Harry by the arm, and Liam and Zayn had trapped him, with fleshy pads of their hands brushing comfortingly at the small of his back.

Did he express his thanks for their existence yet?

He sighs, not even bothering to take in Niall's amused, unnerving expression, or Harry's lack thereof. 

He had no words on how infuriated he felt, stupefied, outraged, outcasted, confused, livid, the list can go on for hours. But, there /is/ one thing he's sure of though:

Never--for the life of him--will he /ever/ want see Harry Styles again.

• • •

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr is - pidgeontoestyles if you have any questions and concerns!
> 
> .x


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